Delta's Mind
by TheEccentricScientist
Summary: Subject Delta's only ever had one purpose in life- protect the kid. However, nowadays it's a purpose he's having a hard time fulfilling, what with flooding, people who want him dead, accent envy, people who want him dead for different reasons, stairs and the passive-aggressive comments of one Sofia Lamb.
1. Chapter 1

Ugh. I could do with a coffee. And by that I mean a _real_ coffee, as opposed to having its molecular components injected into my bloodstream*. I don't know why I would kill for a cup of it, given that I've never tasted a drop, but the desire's there, nonetheless.

The only logical reason I can think of for my craving is that it would give me the energy to deal with- well, everything really. Ever since I pulled myself upright, wondering if I had somehow survived or if the afterlife really was this wet, I've had my world view twisted and contorted until it's about inside-out. The extra energy would definitely be helpful in convincing myself that no, I haven't knocked back one too many of the bottles of alcohol you can find around Rapture- this city is really in ruins, I really died and was brought back by some unknown benefactor, and- this one is the hardest to accept- I failed in my one purpose and left the kid alone with that- that woman.

What's more, I'm not suffering for it. Well, that's not quite accurate- my mind is tying itself in knots trying to find a solution, and my conscience is giving me a painful kick every second or so- but the agonising pain that lances through your head every time you get a little too far away from your ward is just not there. What happened? Did I break my programming? Did I fail in my duty so very thoroughly that it's just given up on me? Is this what happens when your charge-

No. No, she's not- she's fine. I'd know, wouldn't I? I'd know if she was- gone. Even if my programming was broken, I'd still know. I hope.

I don't know for certain, though, so I keep trudging down the shadowy ruin that was once the Adonis Luxury Resort. The walls are dank and rotten, now, and covered with limpets and other assorted sealife. At the top of the stairs I'm now stumbling up**, the coral has completely covered the doorway, a luminescent barricade against anyone seeking entry. I force my way through with a few turns of my drill, sparkling pink chips flying every which way and ricocheting off my armour. I ignore them and continue on my way, which is soon blocked off once again- this time by a fallen pillar. As I duck under, I wonder once again how many years it's been. To my admittedly inexperienced eyes, it looks like it's been abandoned for centuries, but there again, since the whole thing's underwater, the place would probably rot more quickly than it would on land. Or at least that's what I tell myself when I think that maybe there's no kid to find.  
I reach the end of the filthy corridor, and come to one of the Adonis' numerous pools- or what used to be one of the pools, given it's mostly empty now. Is it still a pool, or just a hole?

My train of thought is jerked off its rails as I see a figure dart across the ceiling and dislodge a large chunk of debris, causing it to fall into the once-pool with a resounding crash. I start forwards to get a closer look, but the shape flickers off into the darkness before I can see any details.  
What was it? Not a splicer, I think- the ones I encountered in my time as a Protector have been fairly talkative, whereas all I heard from our shadowy friend was a hoarse, cracked shriek. Besides, no splicer I've ever heard of carried that strange scarlet light. Is it some new abomination from the depths of Ryan Industries? This warrants further investigation.

I make my way around the pool, carefully negotiating the slimed tiles in my heavy boots. While one can say many things for our steel-capped, metal-soled footwear, being grippy is not one of their virtues, and this unstable floor could very well send me slipping to join the wreckage in the pit. It wouldn't kill me, sure, but while the Adonis' baths were once considered a luxury, crashing into the mouldering remains of one of them is not on my to-do list.

I give the tiled floor of the bath a quick glance, wary of what might be lurking beyond the rim of my helmet, and see a scrawled message which informs me that a Lamb is Watching. What lamb? Do they even have lambs down here? Do they mean it in a religious sense? From what I remember, what's-his-face with the moustache who ran the place was pretty against religion***, so anyone advertising their interest in it like this must be a few syringes' short of a plasmid, in my opinion. There again, what do I know about the subtleties of current affairs in this city? I'm a living bulletproof vest in a diving suit, designed to safeguard little girls who salvage drugs from corpses. A politics student I am not.

My thoughts are once again disturbed by a cry of "I need this!" from the next room. I'm a little shocked to find another person still alive in this corpse of a town, and wonder if I could maybe get some idea what happened in this place from them. It'd probably require a bit of inventive mime to do it, but I'm sure that with my previous experience of communicating with the kid would help me out****. I stride into the next room and down a flight of steps (ugh) in time to see her come flying out of a door with a bullet embedded in her back and numerous mutations on her skin. Oh. A splicer.

I should have realised sooner, really. This place looks like it's been in ruins for years, who else is going to survive but the splicers? A voice in the back of my head says that maybe I was hoping people could survive so I could cling on to the idea that the kid's still out there, but I shove it aside so I can deal with the female's erstwhile companion, who's just come haring round the corridor with the probable intention of looting her corpse. I charge forward and give him a drill to the face, which sends him collapsing to the floor with a drawn-out scream and a shower of scarlet. I give a grunt of annoyance at the droplets of red that are now obscuring my vision*****, and bend down to see if he had any worthwhile supplies. He and his lady friend kindly donate a first aid kit, some money (although how useful is it going to be in the post-apocalypse?) and some canned food, which is opened messily with the drill and emptied into the port. Over the unholy whirring, clonking noise the contraption makes, I hear the cheerful calls of the mascots of a Gatherer's Garden. Hmm. Big Daddies aren't really encouraged to use plasmids, despite the fact we've already been pretty much spliced to oblivion and Alpha Series have ports which make the injecting process easy: it's seen as draining the profits we were designed to make for the company. However, given that there's pretty much no one left alive to disapprove, what harm could it do?

I make my way over to the hysterical pink glow of the machine, and find myself in what looks like a shrine, decorated with blue paper butterflies, candles, another of those "Lamb" slogans, and- a picture. To be more specific, a picture of the woman responsible for me losing, in order, what was left of my free will, my life, and the kid.

She peers out of her horn-rimmed glasses, a smile on her dark lips. I think it's meant to be calm and beatific, but to me there's a smug, mocking edge to her expression. I feel a flare of loathing course through my veins, thick and smothering. Whoever she is, I think, if she's still alive now, she won't be by the time I'm done.  
Part of me knows that the hatred that's smouldering inside me is mainly due to the fact that if I can blame her, I don't need to focus on the fact that some of this at least is my fault. If I had gotten there sooner, if I had managed to stop the kid running off in the first place, I might not have lost her. But concentrating on my own failures isn't going to prevent more in the future, so I make note that once I've found the kid some vengeance might be in order, and continue on towards that crimson glow.

… Is it just me, or is the glow getting brighter? Not like I'm approaching the source, but like it's-

"Father."

I blink, and shake my head inside my cavernous helmet, trying to make sense of the image that just flashed across my eyes. A girl with the kid's face, looking at me with a mixture of awe, sadness and delight. The sour contempt that's been crawling in my stomach since I saw that woman's photograph seems to wilt in wake of the image, and I feel a glimmer of hope for the first time I woke up in this pit. Maybe it hasn't been as long as I thought. Maybe I'm not too late after all. Maybe- the kid's still alive.

That's a whole lot of "maybe"s, but one thing's for sure. I don't know where the kid is, but given that I haven't lapsed into a coma or gone insane, she must still be in this city, and given that she's still in this city, she's going to need rescuing.

Don't worry, kid. Sir Bubbles is here to save you: although, if he does manage to, he'd like to know why you used to call him that. Honestly, "Sir Bubbles"? Sounds like a mascot for soap.

 **Footnotes:**

* There's a port in my suit that breaks foodstuffs down, and then feeds the resulting mess into my veins through some sort of drip-and-tube arrangement. I don't know, I was a bit too spliced at the time to understand what the lab techs were saying, and to be quite frank, I don't care too much anyway- as long as I'm not going to explode on the job because of a faulty wire, I'm good.

** I hate stairs so much. Would it really have taken the idiots who designed the Big Daddy armour so very long to do a bit of research on the dimensions of the average stair in Rapture? That way, our feet might have actually fit on any steps we might have happened to encounter as we wandered around. As it is, you have to adopt one of two methods: inch your way up sideways or pick your way up on your toes like a ten-tonne ballerina. Whichever way you choose, you're still not going to make a quick getaway when you've got a pack of splicers after you.

*** I was never much interested in his hour-long rants, but when aforementioned rants are broadcast on every speaker in the city you can't really avoid them.

**** Though since a lot of the gestures I've invented revolve around the common theme of her not running off when doing our rounds, the experience might not be as useful as I hope it will be.

***** As previously stated, the designers of the suit gave little or no thought to practicalities like "How are they going to clean the visor if the sleeves are too stiff to allow them access?".

 **Author's note:**

 **Hello, world! This is my first foray into the phenomenon that is fanfiction, so any reviews and suggestions for improvement would be greatly appreciated. That said, thank you so much for reading this first chapter.**


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, I realise that asking "what harm could it do?" in connection to using plasmids was tempting fate. It's been a while since I last used them, and I forgot that having your genetic code scribbled over and replaced with something else entirely hurts quite a bit. The reason why I sound so calm right now, I think, is I can't really comprehend how much pain I'm in, and so my consciousness has retreated to a part of my brain where it can't be reached. From here, I watch with vague interest while my body rolls around in an agony of sparking electricity, and I grunt and growl out what constitutes a scream if you've undergone vocal chord modulation surgery.

I'm still far away in a dark corner of my mind when my eyes discern a small silhouette in front of me. Well, not quite a silhouette; the eyes glow acid yellow. The Little Sister says something, but I can't quite make it out through my haze of pain. Words drift in and out of my range of hearing, only a few of them registering.  
"... long… sleep… Eleanor… find her…"  
Eleanor… that's what that woman called the kid, right? Well, no shock, Sherlock. Of course I have to find her.  
"You'll get better, all better.."  
All better? Kid- Sister- girl, I'm not sick, okay? Just a bit in shock- shock, hah- from that plasmid. Give me a minute, and I'll be fine.  
The kid leans downwards so she's on a level with my faceplate, and I think she's going to say something else, when suddenly-

-the heck was that? I hope wherever her Big Daddy is, he's going to get a move on, because I think leaving the girl in the hands of that thing is going to result in him suffering the effects of a broken Pairbond sooner than they'd both like*. I'd go after them if I could, but I don't think I can move above a trudge at the moment thanks to my reactivating my Electrobolt, and I'll have lost them by the time I could pursue them in earnest. It digs at me all the same.

Still, at least I got a close-up look at whatever that creature was from the not-pool. A tall, thin figure, with wires and other mechanical oddments hanging off it like an extra skeleton. Its porthole was an angry red, and perfectly circular. The inclusion of a helmet in its structure makes me think it might be a Big Daddy alternative (a Big Mummy, maybe?) but why did its porthole still shine scarlet when it had found its charge again?

I give a guttural sigh, and clamber to my feet. Whatever that thing was, speculating on it won't help the kid, or the Little Sister now in its tender care. I turn back to the Gatherer's Garden, realising the walls and the machine itself are decorated with red bows and children's drawings. I hadn't noticed them due to the agonising pain I was in, and before that I was lost in my own speculations as to what exactly I should do to save the kid- or Eleanor, as she now likes to be called according to the scrawls which accompany the pictures. I remember the woman called her by that name**, but I wasn't prepared to accept that was the case until I found out a bit more about the whole situation. I admit, it hurts a little to find that she identifies herself with the name that woman gave her, but if the kid's still alive then heck, she could call herself the Queen of Sheba for all I'd care. It's not like I can actually call her anything anyway, what with the whole lack of vocal chords.

Speaking of the kid, I should set off, before anything else happens to her. With a quick check of the pull-along cart parked next to the machine***, I set off, my hand crackling like a Van de Graaff generator. The plasmid soon comes in handy, as I find my way blocked by a broken door, and have to administer a quick bolt to fix it. As it turns out, it was a bit of a waste of EVE, as the door leads to the room with the once-pool in it from before. I'm about to leave when I notice a spray of sparks from a generator located at the side of the pool. I don't know why you would put a generator in the vicinity of so much water, but hey, if I can get it running and it can give me enough power to turn on my radio****, I won't question it. I shock the machine, and am rewarded with a veritable Niagara Falls' worth of sparks flying out of it. I'm wondering whether it was really such a good idea to try my hand at DIY on things that have enough power to kill me three times over when the lights flicker on overhead, and a low, accented voice starts coming from the suit's speakers.

"Ah, a signal!"

The voice is that of a woman named Tenenbaum, according to her message, who wants me to meet her at the Atlantic Express train station. I remember her from my days before everything went to hell in a handcart, although I never knew much about her; she was more involved with the Gatherers than with the Protectors. I debate whether to turn up or not as I make my way up yet _another_ flight of stairs, this time flooded with water for those who like a challenge. It'll take time and effort to help her out, time which could be spent finding the kid- Eleanor, I mean. However, if I do help her, she'll owe me a favour or two, depending what job she's got in mind, and could maybe update me on the whole "Rapture in ruins" thing. I decide that I'll find her, but reserve judgement on whether or not to help.

That settled, I take a moment to give the Rosie I can see fixing the leak a thumbs-up- a versatile gesture that was used a lot by the Big Daddies in my day, that can mean anything from "Nice job!" to "Still breathing here, don't worry". The Rosie is unresponsive, which leads me to conclude that either the Big Daddies developed by Suchong don't use hand signals as much as the Alpha series do, or the Rosie's misinterpreted it and is thinking "Of course you can breathe, dimwit, you're not the one underwater". He sidles off after he's added a final rivet, so I'll never know. Shrugging, I move onto the next room, where two splicers are complaining about the lack of ADAM while enjoying a refreshing swim in a small lake of filthy water. Just why they've decided to spend their time in this particular occupation, I'll never know, but seeing as the water provides an excellent conduit for my new plasmid, I can't complain. I'm just scavenging supplies off the bodies when I hear a message being blasted over the speakers. Not just any message, but a message recorded in the voice of the woman who stole the kid- or "Doctor Sofia Lamb", as she calls herself. It feels like millennia ago that I last heard that calm, clear, cold accent, and yet I still grit my teeth throughout the announcement. Such a voice should never be associated with the word "mother", and yet, here she is, proclaiming herself as one to us all. Well, lady, I have news for you: you're not family to me, and if I know the kid, she won't take too kindly to you taking on that role either.

I head into the wreckage of a bathroom to see if there's any supplies I can use, and come across an audio diary. Back when I was doing the rounds, these things were very much in vogue. I wonder if the tape's still intact, and give the button a thump to check. My eyes narrow behind my visor at the voice that rattles out of the tinny speakers: that of Lamb once again. I just can't seem to escape her lately. She's talking to the kid, it seems, who may actually be her daughter- though her voice is bereft of maternal affection, talking instead about revolution and making Rapture "come to us". Story time with you must have been quite something, lady.

I emerge from the bathrooms and am immediately confronted with another splicer, who has just enough time to call me a lummox before being administered a couple of blows with the drill and sent crashing into the cracked tiles at my feet. Honestly, how stupid are splicers now? The ones I met before weren't exactly the brightest of sparks, but most had the sense not to attack a Big Daddy when they were on their own and armed with only a short length of pipe.

Shaking my head, I go back to the room flooded with stinking water. Technically, my suit is waterproof, so I could plunge in and wade across without fear of repercussions, but in reality there are enough holes and threadbare patches that by the time I got to the other side I would be soaked through. And given the stench that's coming off it, I could really do with minimising my exposure to it.

As I make my way across using the pavement instead, I wonder why I suddenly care about whether or not I'm drenched by the foul stuff or not. In the old days, I might realise that the stuff smelled disgusting, but I wouldn't much care if I had to swim my way through an ocean of the stuff in doing my duty. Now, while my priority is still finding Eleanor, I'm actually trying to avoid the toxic waste. Caring about what happens to you must be another symptom of faulty programming, I suppose. My pairbond seems intact, in that I'm neither sinking into a coma or attacking everything that moves and some things that don't, but beyond that my conditioning is just… gone. Why? I did fail, and rather horribly at that, but surely they'd put some sort of safety measure in so we'd return for a maintenance check, rather than allowing us to roam around the city with no restrictions. Then again, we were the prototype version, so maybe this fairly major flaw can be explained.

I'm distracted from my error-ridden conditioning by the discovery of another audio diary, this one recorded by one "Brigid Tenenbaum". Hmm. Part of me isn't fond of the idea of prying into the secrets of someone who hasn't kidnapped my ward and murdered me, but there again, I might be able to get some warning in advance as to exactly why she needs my help, even if the diary is from years ago. With some hesitation, I press "Play".

The woman's entry was made fairly recently, actually, which makes me wonder as to why it's been left here in the wreckage instead of being hidden somewhere safe- but then again, since I have no knowledge of how she ended up at the train station, there might be a perfectly logical explanation behind it. She's talking about her return to Rapture after "so many years" (you couldn't have been a bit more specific? A little more information would be helpful right now) due to a series of kidnappings by the sea, and her fears that new Little Sisters are being created. Given the announcement I heard, I have a pretty good idea of who might be responsible, and I feel anger curdling in my stomach.

For someone who seeks to promote the "common good", Lamb seems to care very little about others. She's experienced first-hand what it's like to lose a child, and now she inflicts that grief on other people. Which "common good" is advanced from your harvesting small children? I intend to find out, and if I don't like what I hear- well, I'm fairly sure the common good would benefit from my performing some trepanning on your skull with this drill.

 **Footnotes:**

* That is, if he's one of the Alpha Series. If he's one of Suchong's Protectors, on the other hand, he'll groan a bit and then forget all about her in favour of the next Little Sister who comes along. I don't think establishing a lethal bond between Protector and Gatherer is such a very good idea (no one needs the wild rampages that causes when one member of the pair dies), but there's something just plain unsettling about seeing a Sister completely forget about her loyal defender's sacrifice when he's still lying there in a puddle of his own faceplate goo.

** Well, not so much "called" as "labelled". In the brief time I saw them together, I never saw the woman exchange two words with her own child. Well, sorry lady, but I'm not willing to leave the kid in your hands until you at least acknowledge her existence beyond the fact she's "yours".

*** Nothing that I could use, and frankly it'll take someone with a harder heart than me to take what are probably beloved toys from the Sisters. I remember the kid telling me how some of them used to catch fireflies whenever they passed by Arcadia on their rounds, and put them in jars like these for nightlights. I wonder if she still refuses to go to bed until someone agrees to give her one- or puts a light on, I suppose.

**** Why do they have a radio in this suit? I have no idea. Probably the same reason I was craving coffee before. Maybe they wanted a quick way to communicate with all Big Daddies (though no one's ever used it), or maybe they just wanted us to be able to listen to "How Much is that Doggie in the Window?" whenever we wanted. We'll never know.


	3. Chapter 3

The posters around Rapture seem a world apart from the destruction that has the rest of the city in its grip. Safe inside their protective casing, glamorous men and women beam down on the corpses that litter the streets, like angels gazing on from the heavens as the world descends into hell.

The saint that's smiling at me now is advertising "Wellness stations", which is particularly ironic given that the splicer I'm sinking rivet after rivet into is trying frantically to reach one on the wall. He was chanting a mantra about the Lamb of God when I found him, but has since lapsed into panicked screams and yells. I finish him with a final rivet to the chest, and turn to face a female who's coming at me from a side-entrance. A headshot later, and she goes down with a protracted shriek. As I trudge over to the corpse, I shove the rivet gun into one of the many loops of rope that adorn my suit. I've seen some of my colleagues use these guns for long-range attacks, but I've never had the opportunity to try one out for myself; although the Alpha Series was designed to be able to use a number of weapons, it was too expensive to provide them for us all, so most of us were just given either a drill or a gun and told to get on with it.

The corpses looted, I make my way down a set of steps (even less fun than going up- you can see exactly how far you're going to plummet if you mess up) and find another audio diary. This one is from a man called Mark Meltzer, who's one of the many parents who've lost their daughters thanks to the maniac creating more Little Sisters*. Unlike the others, Mr Meltzer went on a crusade to find his little girl, and finally made his way down here. I must say, it's a story that strikes a chord with me. I hope he found her, but to be honest, I don't fancy his chances. Rapture never has been kind to strangers, particularly those who aren't on their guard.

I peer round the corner and spot another splicer, this one huddled over something on the ground. I creep up behind him** and activate the drill, wincing at the following bloodbath. This never-ending slaughter is starting to get old fast- and that's coming from someone created specifically for the job. How many are there? Is everyone a splicer? I was thinking that most people were dead, and the only survivors were a few of these creatures dotted around, but it seems like most of the population have been ripping their genes and patching them up. Ryan Industries must have been swimming in money, at least until the city started cracking open- then they were just swimming.

I head up a different flight of stairs, wincing as my boots slip and slide on the damp surface. I open the door at the other end to find a Little Sister busily harvesting a corpse, humming to herself blithely. I try and slip around without disturbing her, but she notices my heavy footfalls and turns around, smiling and holding out her arms in the gesture used universally by children for "up". I smile, but try and signal "no" as best I can: there's no sense in antagonising her Big Daddy by seemingly trying to kidnap his charge. She persists in her pantomime though, jumping up and down and giggling. I'm about to give in and give her a quick piggyback when there's a terrible sound, the same mixture of scream and hoarse growl as I heard in the pool room.

"Big Sister doesn't want me playing with you…"

My eyes dart around the room as I try to seek out the threat, spreading my arms to protect the girl behind me. It doesn't take long before I spot that tell-tale red glare from a balcony. That bad news is that the creature spots me at about the same time.

The figure gives another piercing screech as it bounds down to the statue in the centre of the room, and then-

-Shoot shoot shoot, it's on my shoulders! I struggle for a moment before it latches onto parts of my suit with its various limbs, locking me in place. We stare at each other in silence, scarlet meeting gold, before it releases its grip and flips back onto the ground. I waste no time in firing off a series of shots from the rivet gun, which unfortunately seems to do nothing more than irritate the thing further. I get a little too close to it in a desperate dash meant to get me to the other side of the room, which gives it the opportunity to lash out at me with a weapon that looks like it may have been adapted from an ADAM needle. How did it get its hands on equipment that's used only by Little Sisters? I'm not sure I even want to know.

I strike out with the drill, which allows me enough space to escape from its immediate vicinity. The thing gives a cry of rage, and conjures- wow, okay, it's using plasmids. How's it using plasmids? Are these the things that are draining the city's ADAM supplies so much that new Sisters are needed? If all they do is attack the people who actually supply them with ADAM, then I'm not sure that was such a good investment, Lamb.

While this internal monologue was going on, I've managed to hit the being with the Electrobolt, which paralyses it for long enough for me to land a blow with the drill. It doesn't do much, however, glancing off the shiny armour and causing the creature to let off a series of shrill chittering noises. It swings its needle wildly, the point swiping through the air just where my abdomen was a moment ago. Its next attack is more successful, slashing my forearm. I give out a guttural growl, blocking the next strike with my drill and using my momentum to send the thing staggering backwards. Another blast of the electrifying plasmid gives me the chance to fire off several shots from my gun- quite a few of which unfortunately miss the figure, given that I'm having to awkwardly jam my drill into its holster on my suit simultaneously. My opponent has no such difficulties, and launches itself through the air to drive its toecaps into my face. I just about manage to stay on my feet, thanking whoever had the bright idea of making the glass in my porthole so durable. In a veritable blizzard of fireballs, I fling out another dose of electricity, and am somewhat surprised when in all the blazing confusion it finds its mark, making the lithe figure jerk and twitch in a grotesque parody of an old-fashioned jive. I reattach the drill and slam its point into the thing's face, once, twice, three times. As I raise my drill for a final attack, it dashes off into the shadows, pausing for a moment to utter one more scraping yell before vanishing into the darkness.

I give a relieved sigh, and start holstering my weapons, glancing round for the Sister that was here before. She seems to have fled the scene, which is just as well- although the Sisters heal quickly, they can still feel pain, and getting caught in the crossfire between two armoured titans- one of whom seems to be somewhat laissez-faire about the aiming of the Incinerate! plasmid- would not be a pleasant experience for them.

The intercom crackles, and another message in Lamb's crystalline tones fills the air, this time about "Big Sister". That's what the girl called that creature, isn't it? I don't know why Lamb'd call those monsters by a similar name to that of the pint-sized children we have to guard, but given that we're talking about the same person that refers to her own daughter as "mine", it's not inconceivable.

I loot my way into one of the side rooms and through a corridor, the walls of which are adorned with a message proclaiming our birth in "the cold womb of the ocean". Urgh. I mean, I regularly drill men to death*** but even I have my limits, and that imagery is just a little too disturbing for my taste.

I find myself on a balcony overlooking a large hall, in which a statue of two women casts an elegant silhouette. It's odd, but even among all this death and decay, there's still an eerie sort of beauty to this place, with the shifting green and blue lights from its windows and the remnants of its past glory. I swing myself down to ground level- and look up just in time to see that Big Sister from before shatter the window.

 **Footnotes:**

* I'm looking at you, Lamb. Maybe- and I'm not saying I would, but maybe- I would be more sympathetic if there was actually a need for more Little Sisters, but there's clearly no one left alive to use the ADAM apart from the splicers- and they're more likely to try and snatch a Sister than pay for the drug up front. That's not only evil, that's stupid and wasteful, all wrapped up in one sickening package.

** As best I can- these suits are a veritable orchestra of creaking leather and clattering gear.

*** Not quite as regularly as I punch them to death, though. It's funny (though not in a humorous sense): you'd think using the thing as an actual drill would be more useful, but it's usually quicker and easier just to administer a quick blow to the head. Plus, you don't have to go through that messy business of trying to get the body off the point. Yet more proof that the designers had no idea what they were doing.

 **Author's note:**

 **Well, this time it's a bit of a shorter chapter than the previous two, but on the plus side it has the first action which isn't simply Delta punching someone's lights out. Again, reviews are greatly appreciated, and many thanks to the reviewer who commented on the last chapter. Seriously, it means a lot.**


	4. Chapter 4

I have just enough time to think a curse as hard as I can before the water surges forward and I'm carried away in the torrent. I'm battered and crushed by the surging waves, aware only of the seething foam that bubbles against my faceplate and the weight pressing in on me. Oh yes, the weight. The suit enables me to survive underwater, but it certainly doesn't ease the water pressure that hammers every inch of my person. When I finally stop hurtling head over heels, I feel as if I've been beaten to about an inch thick.

For a moment I just lie there, listening to the sound of my own hoarse breathing. A school of fish flickers above me, a smooth silver wall which ripples with the twitches of their tails. The water writhes with minute sea creatures, plankton or something, which sparkle with the distant rays of sunlight that fight their way down here. It's peaceful at the bottom of the sea, and it strikes me that it might not be such a bad place to spend eternity if I didn't have a kid to find and a certain lady to deal with.

However, I do, and I heave myself off the ocean floor. I give a prolonged groan at the pain which promptly ensues, a stream of bubbles escaping from my suit. Still moaning gently at the dull ache and the crushing sensation that always accompanies underwater jaunts*, I begin to walk in what I hope is the direction of the city, although to be quite honest I have no idea what with all the spinning. There's a lot of furniture floating in the water, but there's no way of knowing if I'm heading towards its source or away from it.

I'm startled by a sudden blast of static from my radio, and Tenenbaum's voice in my head. She seems happy to find I'm still alive- thinking, no doubt, that there was still hope for her mission for me, whatever it is- but I'm a little worried at the implication that she can see whatever I'm doing. Could she see me picking up that audio diary of hers?**

If she notices my anxiety, she doesn't comment, only tells me once again to meet her at the train station. I feel a pang for my lack of functional vocal apparatus, as now the radio has stopped transmitting and I still have no idea where to go. Shrugging it off, I continue my slog through the turquoise-tinted darkness, stopping every now and then to collect rivets or even the occasional ADAM slug. At one point, I come across one of Rapture's glass walled corridors, and I watch as another Big Daddy protects his charge from a splicer's attacks, throwing her onto his back while she shouts out encouragements. She spots me through the thick glass, and pauses in her yelling to give me a cheery wave. Soon the thing is defeated, and the girl and her guardian make their way down the darkened corridor, him trudging along with footfalls heavy enough to send dust billowing out of the carpet, her skipping in his wake.

I continue on my journey, negotiating a path through the rocks and even at one point ducking through the giant ribcage of some titanic ocean creature. It's a little while after that, after picking through a garden of luminous coral, that I come to a ledge, and see the city stretched out before me, Atlantis in ruins.

You'd never guess at the pandemonium that lay inside from here, with the veritable galaxy's worth of lights that shine from the windows and the statuesque shapes of the buildings. Sea life wends its way through the rooftops, squid threading their tentacles through the guttering and sharks swimming between the towers, but even this only serves to enhance the sheer otherworldliness of this place. The presence of this city beneath the waves seems to stand as testament to man's greatness, as doubtless its creator decided it should be- no matter what man saw, he conquered***.

I gingerly lower myself from my vantage point onto the marshy seabed below, next to a dark passageway formed from the heavy machinery that litters the surroundings. I manoeuvre myself through the tight aperture, and am finally confronted with the maintenance depot for the Atlantic Express. Huh. Would it have been so very hard to tell me it was here, Tenenbaum? Is three seconds such a very long time to spend giving a few directions? Grumbling to myself (or making grumbling noises, at any rate), I walk inside, and tug on the airlock control. The water drains out in a flurry of bubbles, and I'm treated to the first sounds I've heard in what seems like an age that aren't muffled by the ocean. True, it's only the thundering of water and the hiss of pneumatics, but I take what I can get.

"Ah, Herr Delta…"

I start at the sound of a human voice, but it's only Tenenbaum again, welcoming me to the station and asking me to come up to the ticket booth. The honorific that she's stuck at the beginning of my name rings oddly in my ears- mostly adults don't even bother with "Delta", preferring forms of address such as "freak" or "the subject", depending on whether they're a splicer or one of the doctors. Being treated as an equal by one is odd, but I feel like I could get used to it.

The door of the airlock makes its rusted, jerking way out of sight, revealing yet more of the art deco wreckage that I'm growing accustomed to seeing in place of the grandiose world I know. I rummage about in the rubble for a while, looking for anything I could use, but am eventually forced to concede that this particular area was picked clean by the genetic aberrations that constitute the population long ago.

Speaking of, I can hear a gaggle of wheezing voices up ahead, arguing about something (probably ADAM). I edge cautiously through a corridor and up two more flights of stairs. This time, they're stairs which were only used by the employees of the station as opposed to customers, and are consequently narrow and even harder to get up than the ones in the Adonis from before. Nonetheless, I make my way up without too many mishaps, but unfortunately my grunts of irritation when my feet slip off their precarious perches alert the splicers, so by the time I reach the top I'm confronted with a trio of the abominations who are sure I've got a Sister concealed somewhere about me, and aren't too choosy about the methods they use to get at her.

I deal with them accordingly. The first gets an elbow in the stomach, sending him spinning away to the other side of the room, while his friend who attacked a moment afterwards gets a drill to the face. The final member of the group lets out a cry of fury and plunges in before I've finished with his companion, hacking at my armour with what looks like a long kitchen knife. It's lucky he's not too bright- that thing looks sharp, and if he focused his attentions on the leather regions rather than on the brass and rivets of my helmet, he could do some serious damage. As it is, he only manages to scratch the surface of the metal before I slam him with the electrobolt and finish him off with a blow to the head. The first attacker was badly winded by my assault, and has spent the duration of the encounter panting in the corner, but a sudden crash alerts me to the fact that he's now taken the initiative to shut the heavy vault door that blocks off the passage, trapping me inside.

"Most of the people are now like this. Splicers."

No, really, Tenenbaum? I thought these mutants were a breed of ostrich. From what I can deduce, the lady wants to help the new Sisters who are being created, and I'm grateful to her for that, but how stupid does she think I am? Shaking my head, I go inside an office beside the door to try and find a way of opening it. My search proves successful: not only do I find some more food supplies, but I also discover a hack tool to use on the door control system outside. It's the work of a moment to bend the machine to my will, and soon enough the vault clanks its way open. I give a satisfied grin beneath my visor and saunter through, stuffing the tool into yet another belt and thinking of the days when you'd have to manipulate a finicky hydraulics system if your Sister detected an ADAM-rich corpse in a sealed-off part of the city. That wasn't fun at all in these gloves, let me tell you.

On the other side of the doorway, I recover a disabled security bot, sparking and smoking on the ground. From my experience, the little robots are pretty useful to have on your side, so I spend a few seconds hacking this one. With the thing whirring happily by my shoulder, I make my way along the passageway and find myself in a large chamber with a train suspended within it- though it crashes into a pool of water a moment after we enter. The reason behind its destruction surfaces a moment later- a pair of splicers, doubtless friends of the group from before, one brandishing a pipe and shrieking in a nasal voice, the other considerably more bass and armed with a wrench. Wearily, I strike at the woman with the drill a few times, sending her tumbling head-over-heels down a set of steps, whilst the male is riddled with bullets by my new propeller-powered associate. While I search the corpses, Lamb's voice once again fills the air, this time talking about the death of Ryan. I'm not altogether sure who Ryan is, aside from the fact that he was probably involved in Ryan Industries, but from Lamb's speech I can infer that he was Moustache Man from before**. Whoever he was, he apparently lives on in us all, so maybe he was a bacterium or something. A tyrant, too, according to the end of her little monologue, which doubtless gives hope to germs everywhere. You can be anything you want to be, pathogens! Look at Ryan- a humble infection in the gut at first, but ruler of an entire city in the end! Today the intestine lining, but tomorrow the world!

And here's a diary from the man- or microbe- himself, talking about his recruitment of a certain psychiatrist by the name of "Lamb". He sounds annoyed at having to welcome her into the watery depths of the place, so maybe I do have something in common with the guy after all. I discard the tape on a table and venture onwards.

Eventually, I come to a room drenched in red light and dripping sparks, with several screens showing security feeds branching off the walls. Well, some of them show security feeds, at least; others have simply given up the ghost and show nothing but steely grey. A quick glance around reveals a rusty lever that, according to its label, controls the gates. I crack my knuckles, and give it a yank-

-which is when everything is plunged into black.

For a moment I simply stare into the solid darkness, wondering what on earth went wrong. Then I hear a crisp _click_ in my right ear. Spinning on my heel, I see one of the screens spring to life, showing a clip of film from the platform. Another _click_ comes from out of the shadows, and another, and another, until all the screens are flickering white and grey with colourless images of the lifeless station or messages to "PLEASE STAND BY". I back away from them, just as their pictures are replaced with a woman's face and a voice resounds through the tiny room. A woman's face and voice which I know very well.

"I know you," Lamb says, in those frosted tones that have so often reverberated through layers of static in the announcements I've heard. "You're a dead man, Subject Delta. It's been ten years since I watched you ensure it was so."

As much as I appreciate the information on the time- and really, ten years? This town went so far downhill in that short a time?- the rest of her words grate on my nerves like a serrated knife down slate. Whose fault is that little incident you mentioned, lady? It sure wasn't yours truly's. She continues on, oblivious to my chagrin- or perhaps not, given how little empathy she's displayed so far.

"Don't feel too bad, Subject Delta. Your pain gave birth to Paradise."

Is this what you're referring to as "Paradise", lady? 'Cause if it is, you should get out in the fresh air more****.

She continues, noting with a glimmer of irritation that she has no idea how I survived, and that- hang on. She's speaking again. What men? What do you mean, they'll "ease my"-

My thoughts are broken off as I'm caught in a rain of fire.

 **Footnotes:**

* Our primary purpose may have been to protect the Sisters, but we were given construction equipment to fight with for a reason apart from the fact that it's fairly effective at killing people. At least it gave us something to do after we left our charges in their pipes for the night, and had to wait out the dark hours alone.

** It may seem curious that I know what Ryan Industries is but don't know for certain who the man himself was, but my memories have always been a bit piecemeal. Apart from those which catalogue the events which ended in me waking up in the Adonis and what happened afterwards, it's all a blurry patchwork: a smile from Eleanor here, a violent death there, and all obscured by a boiling fog. Since a lot of my past was involved with Ryan Industries, it features quite a bit in the messy tapestry, whereas since Moustache Man's announcements never mattered much to me, most of what he said has subsided into the mist.

*** And women too, I suppose, but for some reason the messages on the flickering screens never brought them up from what I can remember. It was always "man" this and "man" that. There again, since I vaguely remember one talking about how we were all entitled to brow-sweat, maybe they decided to just not get involved. Good on them.

**** There again, given what the city of Rapture has become, so should we all.

 **Author's note:**

 **Finally, Delta meets his arch-nemesis in person- for a given value of "in person", at least. I've rewritten her and Tenenbaum's speeches so I'm not copying-and-pasting from the dialogue in the game, so if you notice the discrepancies between the game's elegant prose and what I've written you now know why. If you don't- play the game again, it's awesome. Again, please review, and many thanks to my reviewer from the last chapter.**


	5. Chapter 5

I growl in pain as the blaze that's busily devouring the office threatens to engulf my suit, and my supply of ADAM trickles lower as it's used to heal my wounds. I hear Lamb's assurances over the speakers that this is charity, a mercy really. I'd answer that with one of the gestures I observed the lab techs at Ryan Industries use*, but I opt instead to use my hands to swat at the flames in a vain attempt to stamp them out. I hear Tenenbaum's voice panicking over my suit's radio.

"Lamb has found you!"

As much as her charity towards the Sisters makes me want to like her, I must confess the good doctor's tendency to state the obvious is beginning to grate on my nerves. I give another agonised roar as a particularly vicious tendril eats its way through the cloth of the suit and sears my leg. As I limp away from the burning floorboards, it strikes me that a lot of the floor is now being turned into ash- including the bit I'm standing on, which promptly gives way and sends me hurtling downwards to places unknown.

I hurtle downwards, limbs flailing**, throat throbbing with an anguished snarl. The fall only lasts for a few seconds before there's a deafening _crash_ and I find myself once again underwater. Not the open ocean, like before, but a room which has since been flooded out. Evidently the Big Daddies have been slacking off maintenance duties in the ten years I was out of the picture.

I push my way through the curiously viscous saltwater, navigating my way through the knee-high plant life that's made its home here, and once around a floating corpse (suddenly I'm a whole lot less curious about the water's viscosity). I find a narrow passageway leading off from the room, which I can just about worm my way through if I crush myself against the pipes that adorn one of its walls. My radio emits a burst of static, heralding another communication from Tenenbaum.

"So, Herr Delta, you have met our enemy- Sofia Lamb. I can watch through your eyes using the camera in your helmet, and help you in your struggle against her."

So _that's_ how you saw I was in the ocean before. Well, lady, I don't think you can help me much now, unless you've got a pump somewhere nearby that can get rid of all this transparent slime masquerading as water. Eurgh.

Speaking of, I see a set of stairs up ahead that'll bring me to ground level. The things are even harder to negotiate while underwater, but I manage it, and emerge in one of the station's storage rooms. A large white mural of a butterfly adorns one wall, surrounded by candles and those white books I've been seeing around the place. Closer inspection reveals that the butterfly is entirely made up of handprints, which strikes me as kind of a waste of time- honestly, what do you think rollers are for, applying make-up?

A whirring sound distracts me from the painting, and I look up to see the security bot from before buzzing down the hallway towards me, its lights still glowing green. I give a snort of amazement at the fact that it's somehow not only managed to escape Lamb's thugs, but also to locate me, but hey, who am I to question my luck? I've had enough of the bad stuff to last me a lifetime. I follow it to the next room-

-and almost have some more delivered to my doorstep by the security camera that lurks in the opposite corner.

I retreat hastily, hiding in the shadows near the door. I give an involuntary grunt of surprise when my radio hums to life again, but fortunately the cameras can't detect sound and it remains silent.

Tenenbaum tells me to be careful (again, you're not exactly bringing anything new to the table, lady) and to use a remote hack dart I picked up a little while ago in my scavenging. I clip the hack tool onto my glove and take aim, firing into the heart of the thing's mechanisms. A moment later, and I have a new best friend, who's helpfully called down a security alert on a gathering of splicers that were waiting around the corner. I finish off the stragglers with judicious application of my drill and loot the corpses for supplies, while my security bot hovers around my shoulders giving off a series of satisfied _bleeps_. I've yet to find a use for all the money I've been finding, but I'm at least partly human and hence the idea of leaving money behind causes me acute pain, so the notes I find on the bodies and dotted around the room are shoved into one of my suit's pockets as well.

I continue on my way, down a hall and towards a push-cart-

"Father… Father, it's me!"

Kid! I stumble to a stop, my vision obscured by a pair of worried blue eyes I've seen a thousand times before, asking in a childish voice if I'm alright and if I'll stop leaking soon.

"It's Eleanor. I know you're in there, I can sense it. Mother won't ever be able to-" her voice cracks "-to _use_ you like that again. The plasmid in the cart is a gift for you. If I'm right, you should be able to use it. Please, find me."

The eyes retreat backwards, revealing my kid's face. I feel a swelling of pride in her chest that, whatever's happening to her that means she can't meet me in person, she's still trying to help as best she can. I don't know if I have any right to be proud, seeing as I've left her for ten years, and from what I remember generosity and bravery were pretty much a part of her nature already, but it's still there. She looks so anxious, though. I just want to pick her up and grunt out a reassurance, like I used to when I was wounded. I can't, however, and so I suck down my worries for her safety and administer the plasmid: Telekinesis, according to the label on the bottle. I'm braced for the shock now, and so my hands only tremble a little as my genes unravel themselves and knit up in a different configuration. Still shaking slightly, I thump a button for the Jet-Postal machine, thinking I could do with some practice at using the abilities the ADAM grants me. I've used them before- I think I've tried out most plasmids before, in a distant time which I only remember flashes of- but it takes a few tries before I can reliably catch and throw the objects which are flying towards me. Finally satisfied, I depress the button again, and turn away, noticing a short note scrawled on the floor asking me to come and find someone. I can guess who. I give a deep sigh, and continue on my way.

Up another narrow staircase and through a door, and I'm on a platform above a group of splicers discoursing angrily about something or other. I'm not particularly sure what- what with the distance between us, their strong accents and the guttural overtones that always accompany excessive plasmid use, I only hear a chorus of garbled grunts and groans. I'm hoping I can quietly slip past them before my security bot buzzes out to accompany me, whirring cheerfully, and suddenly all three of the monsters' heads are turned in my direction. I use my new Telekinesis plasmid to pick up one of the orange gas canisters that are lying nearby, but unfortunately my rehearsal hasn't prepared me for dealing with larger objects, and I fluff the throw and end up with a load of compressed gas exploding right next to me, flattening my body against the wall. The figures flit into the shadows, seizing guns and ammo which have been leaning against the walls, and I'm forced to dodge bullet after bullet as I frantically look around for another canister I could use. My search proves unfruitful: there are a lot of them lying around, but none are in a position which would allow me to grab them without having to emerge from behind the support I'm using for cover. I shrug it off, and instead fire off a few rivets in the creatures' direction. I deal with two, then retreat back behind the doorway, which doesn't help me so much when the final member of the trio makes his way up the scaffolding. Desperately, I take aim and fire, and manage to land a headshot. I breathe out relievedly, but a series of gunshots alerts me to the fact that the group I just decimated had some friends. With a determined growl, I snatch up a canister with Telekinesis and fling it at a couple of the abominations who've just lurched out of a doorway, causing an impressive conflagration. I pause for a moment, waiting for another attack, but it seems like the detonation I initiated has taken out the rest, and so I begin the lengthy business of clearing out the place of any items I could use.

I lower myself gingerly down the stairs that lead to ground level, and make my way through a series of rooms that lead off from the main hall. I pass quickly through the bathrooms (the white-tiled fixtures have always made me feel slightly queasy) and raid the kitchens for useable foodstuffs. A few drilled-open cans later (and seriously, I hope I find a better way soon, because despite all the water my suit is sporting several new stains) and I progress into a room behind the kitchens, which doesn't seem to have a purpose. In it, there's an open suitcase, in which I find an interesting diary entry detailing a debate that occurred between Ryan (or as I'll probably always think of him, Moustache Man) and Lamb (who I can think of many names for, but none of them are really suitable for mixed company). Lamb seems to be winning, to my disgust, her chilly syllables ringing out to cheers and applause from the crowd. My hand tightens around the recorder until it crumples into a wreck of splintered plastic and sagging tape, which I throw to one side of the kitchen. I trek back through the hallways until I find myself in the room with the train in it from before, which looks to be a workshop. In it, I find more supplies in one of the splicers' nests, as well as a recording from Mr Meltzer. He's talking about a confrontation with one of the splicers, which ended in the thing fleeing the place when it overheard one of the Little Sisters. I feel pity stirring in me for Meltzer, who's telling himself that his little girl- Cindy- is alive and out there somewhere. Poor soul. Still, at least that little run-in might make him better prepared for the rest of the madness that pervades this city. Heaven knows, he'll need to be.

My musings are interrupted by Tenenbaum, who directs my attention to one of the aberrations busily jamming the door mechanism with some debris. She talks sadly about how most of the Protectors are Lamb's slaves now- and pauses to say that someone has freed me from that bond. I ponder her words thoughtfully. I had assumed my consideration for my own safety was a result of ruined conditioning, the result of failing so badly in my purpose that my programming had washed its hands and given up on me. But according to the woman, someone has deliberately removed it from my brain, and thinking back to what Eleanor said, I have an inkling who that might have been- though no idea how she did it.

However, this new presence of mind hasn't changed one thing, at least: my pairbond. Ever since I first came to in a puddle of water, I've felt that insistent tug on my soul, nagging at me every second I spend away from the kid. Even if my conditioning's gone haywire, I can hold onto that.

 **Footnotes:**

*I have no idea what they mean, but I'm hoping they're fairly obscene

** As best they can in a Big Daddy suit- these things were really not designed for flexibility.


	6. Chapter 6

With newly-found determination, I yank the pipe out of the elaborate gear system which controls the doors using Telekinesis, flinging it away into a far corner of the room. Gradually, the door is pulled open, although it stops and starts as the mechanism frantically works against a thick layer of rust. I cautiously make my way through, one hand raised over my head in the vague hope I can stop myself being crushed to death by the thing. I've just made it to the other side when my radio buzzes to life. I start with a mixture of surprise and fury when the voice that it transmits is not that of Tenenbaum, but the clinical, clear tones that belong to Lamb.

As I make my way through the room she talks of my pairbond, how the only reason I would look for the kid is to save myself, and the "destiny" that waits for Eleanor. In my experience, anyone who talks about someone having a destiny means nothing but trouble, for the person they're discussing and for anyone else who might stand in their way.  
I may sound arrogant, but I think I could see her point of view if she did all this with the sole purpose of protecting her daughter. Heck, I would empathise. But Lamb's attitude towards her little girl seems to be that of an engineer towards a spanner: they think it's a useful tool, but nothing more. The disinterest in her voice as she talks about the kid causes rage to boil up in my throat- rage and fear. I wouldn't trust the woman with a dog I liked, and the idea of her tending to my daughter for ten whole years makes me feel distinctly nauseated.  
Huh. "My daughter". I've never called the kid that before. I don't know if I care about her in that way, even, or whether this is just my pairbond tugging and pulling at my mind until it's stretched into a gross approximation of what a real parent would feel towards their child. I decide not to think about it too hard; there'll be plenty of time for existential contemplation later, after I've found the kid and we've made good our escape.

I turn a corner, and find a dead end and another audio diary. This entry's another one from Lamb to the kid, a pretentious analysis of the human psyche which I'm guessing the kid didn't listen to for more than half a second before switching off. If the heavy duty conditioning all Little Sisters go through couldn't get her to pay attention to her Big Daddy's frantic gesticulations on the subject of not running off alone when we were doing our rounds, she's not going to listen to Lamb's arrogant treatise on "Knowing the Beast".  
I'm jerked out of my contemplation by a loud jingle and a burst of manic laughter. Further investigation reveals that it's not a splicer, but one of the vending machines that are dotted around the place. I reach for my hack tool, and a few seconds' later I'm rewarded with a bundle of rivets, none of which I can carry due to a combination of frequent looting and infrequent use of the things. The rest of the supplies available in machine are even less interesting, and so I turn away from the chuckling appliance no richer than I was when I picked up my hacking device. I wearily clamber up yet another set of stairs that have been turned into an indoor water feature-

-and almost run headlong into a Big Sister.

The creature gives a startled hiss, then flings itself at the wall, leaping up a pile of machinery with cat-like agility. It reaches a balcony that runs around top of the room and darts about it until it comes to a beam that stretches across the centre of the ceiling. It runs gracefully along the narrow walkway and disappears into an opening in the roof. My radio gives a crackle and Tenenbaum's voice emerges, urging me to hurry to the elevator. The task is easier said than done, however, because while I've been distracted a gang of splicers have surrounded me.

One sinks a shot into the leather of my forearm before I can so much as move, and I roar with pain as I duck behind a rotting pile of crates. I target a burst of Electrobolt at the splicer behind my opponent, and whilst they're both distracted I lunge forward and smash the drill into both their heads, one on the downswing, one on the up. I charge past their groaning forms and take down a female with a similar manoeuvre, making her pistol fly out of her malformed hand. A shrill string of _dings_ comes from overhead, and I realise that a camera must have been following my violent exploits. I hide behind a support beam just as more splicers round the corner, weapons at the ready. Steeling myself to retreat further back if necessary, I let them run towards me, taking them on one by one as they lurch into my path. I advance slightly too far forwards on my last attack with the drill, though, and the camera begins to wail in earnest, a discordant siren that'll bring even more of the monsters rushing towards my location. Biting back a snarl of anger, I pull my rivet gun out of its holster, firing left-handed on a maniac with a sledgehammer as I frantically try and disengage my drill. I deal with him, but not before he's landed a hit or two and my ADAM is flowing freely out of its tank to fix the tears in my flesh. Behind his crumpling figure, I notice the elevator and surge towards it, ignoring the bullets that ricochet off the tanks on my retreating back. I thump the button frantically, willing the elevator's elderly inner workings to activate, and with a series of _creaks_ and _clunks_ we're away, rising slowly upwards as the hordes of disfigured nightmares thrust their claws through the gate and shriek curses. Shots send up fountains of sparks as they hit the grating in front of my face, causing me to edge backwards sharpish. As I gaze downwards at the screaming crowds, I feel my stomach twist in apprehension at just how many people stand between me and my little girl and the thought of what else is out there, watching my every move through their scarlet portholes.

"Now-"  
I start involuntarily, but it's only Tenenbaum, using my radio to warn me about the pairbond and its deadly nature. I could have told her that I know all this- I've seen it, even. Eleanor and I were the first successful candidates for the bonding procedure, which meant that we got to see the results of the less successful operations that were carried out in a frenzied rush afterwards. In particular I recall one Protector candidate whose bond formed successfully, but whose Little Sister was too frail to cope with the stress of the operating table- they spent only a few days harvesting ADAM in frantic denial before she faded away entirely. I still remember the way his giant arms clutched the little body, as though he was afraid to hold her too tightly while needing to cling on with all his might.  
I blink the image away and fix my mind on Tenenbaum's words. She's not really saying anything new, just that Eleanor is Lamb's daughter, but I need something to distract myself. It's just as well I paid attention when I did, because I now know that she's being held at Fontaine Futuristics. Hold on, kid- I'm coming to save you.

The elevator starts to slow down, its tastefully-decorated glass door displaying a room not-so-tastefully-decorated with flood water and a body, which a splicer is busy examining. Seeing my bulky form through the glass, she scurries off towards the stairs, but treads on something and is sent tumbling backwards with a startled cry. I venture out once the door slides open, and find that the thing that sent her flying was a trap rivet, several of which have been planted near the steps. I collect a generous supply, before heading up the stairs and round the corner, where I find an office containing another audio diary. This one is recorded by Gil Alexander; someone familiar to anyone who's spent any time at Fontaine Futuristics*. This diary details his "eureka" moment, as one might put it- the moment when he decided that what the Protectors really needed was a bond that would result in actual death if they made the slightest slip-up. I give a shake of my head at the man's idiocy**, before tramping down yet another set of stairs***, at the bottom of which is the ticket booth I've been looking for. A splicer is busily trying to pry up the shutters with a crowbar, no doubt lured there by the scent of ADAM that permeates anything left in the vicinity of a Sister for too long. I treat him to a spin on the drill, before remembering belatedly why I use that particular attack so seldom. I'm trying to dislodge the remnants that cling to the point when I notice the intercom switch which should winch up the blinds and allow me to talk to Tenenbaum. Well, see her, at any rate- the conversion process pretty much put paid to any real communication we might have been able to have.

The screen winds up to reveal the woman's face, as well as a few Sisters playing on the floor. Past Sisters, actually, now I look more closely- their eyes no longer have that glow about them that marks a person who's had an ADAM slug implanted in their stomach. Tenenbaum looks up from the papers she's poring over, and makes her way to the window.  
She talks, then, of her quest to stop Lamb's careless exploitation of the children, perhaps unaware of the fact that I know this from that diary entry that I found earlier. She begins to speak of something else, when she's interrupted by a cry of "Look!" from one girl, and a flare from the screen that looks down from a corner.  
"This is Subject Delta, citizens." A picture of myself flashes onto the screen, doubtless taken by one of the security cameras I encountered on my way here. "A hollow mask, without a trace of humanity within it. And yet, this creature believes it has a right to steal our daughter from us, for the sole purpose of prolonging its own existence. It is a monster, an animal, alone in the world- and now it threatens the Rapture Family. Citizens, it is our duty stand together, to tear apart its hungry maw and drive it back into the ocean!"

 **Footnotes:**

* And still has the mental capacity to recognise someone after spending time there.

 ****** Eleanor may be the best thing that I can remember ever happening to me, but I'm fairly sure she'd be just as upset as I am if she ever learns what her separation from me may entail. Your bonding idea was a good one, Alexander, but there's such a thing as taking an idea too far.

** Seriously, why are there so many stairs in this place? It's not like you have to conserve space. You're on the seabed, for goodness' sake; you can build whatever you goshdarn well like down here without anyone complaining about you going over the border.


	7. Chapter 7

"Lamb again!" Tenenbaum's brow is creased with anxiety as she peers through the glass at me. "She will stop at nothing to find you, now she knows that you seek her daughter. Please," she looks at me imploringly, "Hold the splicers off until we escape!"

I give a nod, exaggerated so that the woman will be able to see the helmet move, and turn away to make preparations for the battle to come. I turn back to the window when I hear a gentle tap on the glass, and see Tenenbaum force a plasmid syringe through the slim aperture beneath the pane.

"If you find any Little Ones, please- use this to cure them, then send them to me. I will make it worth your while if you do…"

I take the plasmid and give her a thumbs-up. She looks relieved, and her hand twitches as if she might return the gesture, but she turns away when one of the children tugs on her skirt, demanding her help in the vitally important business of telling Katy that that doll is Linda's, not hers. I smile behind my visor as Tenenbaum winds down the screen, and shoulder the rivet gun once again.

I stand at the gates to the platforms, listening intently for any sounds of activity. I don't have long to wait- a few seconds is all it takes for the feral snarls and growls of the splicers to make their way from "on the cusp of hearing" to "so loud they might as well be on top of you". I hastily shoot trap rivets across the entrance as the first splicer rushes around the corner, managing to strike me with his wrench before I retreat over the threshold. My luck being what it is, he of course somehow avoids all the traps I just placed and leaps into the centre of the room, darting close to me to batter his weapon against my suit. As more and more gush in through the gap I retreat further into the depths of the station, shooting snares as I go. Thankfully, the rage my presence inspires has distracted the creatures from the stench of ADAM emitting from the ticket booth, and they ignore its tantalising scent in favour of pursuing me down the hallway.

I hear squeals and roars behind me as several of the splicers stumble into my traps. By the time I turn around, there's only one left, and he looks distinctly uneasy at being all on his lonesome with a Big Daddy he's been attacking. I have no such worries, and riddle him with enough rivets to take him down and make him stay there. Unluckily for me, I can hear the sounds of his friends coming to join him, and I think there's no more trap rivets left in the corridor.

I find another way through to the platform, and circle back to take on the creatures from behind. There's a group of five here which will do nicely. I catch one of the females in the back with a rivet, causing her to let out a piercing screech which attracts the attention of her comrades. This gives me enough time to slip into the shadows and lurk there as they try and identify the source of the attack.

"Show your face, freakin' animal!"

Hmm. I'd say that was a bit rich, coming from someone who's drugged himself to the point where he doesn't mind if he has to slice a child's stomach open to get at his fix. Still, I do him a favour and show him my face, at the same time as bashing his skull in with the butt end of my firearm. I back up as the others turn on me, sinking rivet after rivet into their deformed hides.

When they're taken care of, I sprint onwards, towards the rest of the splicers, who have realised that the shots are coming from the opposite direction to the one they're running towards. I pick up some of the trap rivets which weren't triggered before, and ready my Electrobolt. The first one who dashes in is shocked right off the bat, but has to wait a bit while I deal with her companion in the rabbit mask, who's now slamming my helmet with a pipe. I don't have time to buckle on my drill, so instead I use more rivets to knock him back into firing range, alongside his lady friend. They both rush at me as a pair, shrieking curses and swiping wildly with their weapons, but I manage to get enough shots off to take care of them both before they get too close. I quickly scavenge some ammo from their bodies* and finish up just as another one runs round the corner at breakneck speed. Even after I shock him his momentum propels him forward, still juddering and shaking with the electricity. His twitching interferes with my aim slightly, but not so much that I don't manage to get him with a headshot. As his corpse crumples to the ground, I glance around for more of them, but that seems to be it for now.

My radio crackles to life once more: it's Tenenbaum, delivering her thanks to me and expressing her regret that she can no longer assist me in my quest. Instead, she tells me of another man I can look to for help, called Sinclair.

"Good luck, Herr Delta," she finishes. "And goodnight."

I don't know how much she can see out of the feed from my helmet, but I hold my thumbs-up signal right in front of me, so she hopefully can't miss it. She may have repeatedly stated the obvious as if it were breaking news, but anyone who's a friend to the Sisters is a friend to me.

Sinclair, Sinclair. The name goes round and round in my head as I rummage around in the debris for anything salvageable. I've heard it before, though I'd be hard-pressed to say exactly where. Unfortunately, although I now have free will, the boiling mess which I dignify with the title of "my mind" is still just as scrambled as it ever was, and I can't quite pick out the memories that would allow to me to ascertain whether I do remember the man or if I'm just imagining it.

I'm startled out of my thoughts by another burst of static as the radio signal switches, and my ears are suddenly filled with what must be the goshdarn smoothest voice I've ever heard. It's faintly amused, and so laid back that it wouldn't sound out of place in- where do people relax? At parties, I suppose- I don't have much experience of relaxation myself, and so I don't really know whereabouts this voice would sound at home. Wherever it is, it certainly isn't in this flooded-out graveyard.

Smooth as his voice may be, altruism isn't one of Sinclair's virtues, apparently- he's making it clear that he's not doing this out of the good of his heart. He's interested in the Fontaine Futuristics building, for whatever reason, and he hopes my assistance can get him it. He signs off with a request to meet me at Ryan Amusements, leaving me near consumed by envy for both his carefree swashbuckling attitude and his Southern syllables.  
I've never had the luxury of that selfish outlook on life. My pairbond ensures that there's always someone I'll have to put first, even now my programming's been broken. Still, when I think of the kid, I know that even if I wasn't linked to her in such a lethal way, I'd tear the world apart for her.

I'm searching the area one last time for any useable items when I come across another audio diary from Tenenbaum. This one worries me considerably: apparently when the good doctor arrived, Lamb's splicers destroyed her submersible, leaving her and the Sisters she had rescued without any means of escape. Where is Tenenbaum now, then? Hiding out in another abandoned building, probably, trying to mask the scent of ADAM that still exudes from the children, even after the slugs have been removed from their stomachs. I don't like the idea of sending any Sisters I find into that mess, especially without the safeguard that their ADAM provides against injury, but I suppose it's better than abandoning them down here, risking their lives at Lamb's command without any hope of rescue.

The tape also tells me that Tenenbaum had her doubts about how trustworthy Sinclair really was. It's no skin off my nose, really; in my experience, most people shouldn't be trusted as far as you can throw them**, and the man's assurances that he was doing this for the Fontaine Futuristics building didn't exactly ease my qualms. Consequently, I'm prepared for him to sink a knife into my back at any moment. I'll survive. Heck, I've survived a bullet to the head- what more could anyone do to me?

I step into the train and examine the controls. I've never driven a train before, but how hard can it be? It has a track, so there's no need to steer. I should be fine, if I can work out which lever to pull to start the thing up. Unless it needs coal, or something- don't trains need coal? How would you get coal down here?

I shrug off my anxiety, and a few minutes of lever-pushing eventually gets the locomotive working. The carriage door slams shut, and the gate ahead of me sinks downwards, revealing a tunnel lit dimly by flickering lights. As the train begins its trek into the deep, I notice that most of the bulbs further ahead have blown themselves out, meaning that my journey is going to be in utter darkness. I give a drawn-out sigh, leaning against a wall as the train enters the pitch black. It's going to be a long ride.

 **Footnotes:**

 ***** Though I'm not sure why they were carrying rivets: she had a length of pipe and he a sledgehammer, and nothing else. Bit odd that they were carrying rounds for a Protector's weapon, but I won't look a gift horse in the mouth by questioning why.

** Given the amount of Sports Boost I've had forced into my blood, that would be inadvisable even if people were a bit more trustworthy, actually. I could throw the hammer in the Olympics, if they held the Olympics down here and let Big Daddies enter.


	8. Chapter 8

**To any regular readers:**

 **The last chapter was recently rewritten- not much, but the ending has changed slightly. Rereading the last part of it might be advisable to avoid confusion.**

The locomotive is slogging its way up a hill when my radio crackles to life again. It's Sinclair, reminding me to stop before I smash into the glacier that's blocking the tracks ahead. I swiftly locate the correct lever and slam on the brakes, the train screeching its way to a halt as I do so. I clamber out of the train and realise I've arrived at Ryan Amusements, which for some reason looks as if someone's been trying to redecorate using the Winter Blast plasmid as a substitute for wallpaper.

"As doubtless you've seen, chief, the station next to Ryan Amusements is snowed under."

I wait for him to give some explanation as to why that might be, but he doesn't elaborate, instead talking about how I'll need Incinerate! to get any further. Easier said than done, Sinclair; I remember using it once upon a time, but it was long ago swapped out for round upon round of the experimental plasmids they designed specifically for the Alpha Series to use. To use the thing again, I'd have to have a fresh syringe-full of modified ADAM to remind my cells what they're supposed to be producing.

Luckily, Sinclair's realised this difficulty, and tells me to head into the park to find a Gatherer's Garden with what I need. I trudge through the gates, wondering again how some people are blessed with such very smooth accents whereas others can only produce grunts and growls. Not that I'm jealous, or anything*.

On entering, I encounter _more_ stairs. Brilliant. There's two flights of them here, too. As I clamber up the steps, I reflect darkly that the labs should have spent less time on developing new ways of making deadly things spring out of a man's fingertips and more on designing elevators and other ways of reaching higher levels of flooring. Grappling hooks, possibly. Admittedly, it'd probably take one strong grappling hook to support the weight of a Big Daddy, not to mention to pull him up, but it'd beat having to gingerly pick your way up a staircase like I'm doing now. Hey, maybe that's why this place is in ruins. One day, all the Daddies got together and decided that enough was enough, and unless they were provided with a quicker way to get to parts of the city then the city itself would suffer for it.

I finally reach the top, and am faced with more murals stating that we will all be "reborn". I suppose for me that's true to an extent, what with coming back to life and all, but why on earth are the inhabitants of this place scrawling the message everywhere? Are they talking about being becoming splicers? Because that's no cause for celebration. I give a shrug, and reach for the diary I see tucked behind the acres of candles that surround the writing.

This one is another one from Lamb, because I just haven't heard enough of her voice yet. She's talking about her daughter's "progress", as though Eleanor was some pet being trained to sit and stay rather than an intelligent little girl**. Apparently Lamb minimised her physical participation in her child's birth, although how she did I'm not sure, and quite frankly, I don't want to know. Regardless of how it was done, it was all in the cause of Lamb remaining detached from all parental affection and humanity- or "not giving in to the primitive favoritism nature instills in us all", in her words. The upshot remains the same: Lamb views her daughter as something useful to be manipulated, whose own opinions and emotions can be discarded at will. When Dr. Alexander was creating the Protectors, he really ought to have looked to this woman as an example of what not to do- I've seen splicers with healthier relationships.

The actual entrance of the park conceals a splicer in a welding mask, who darts behind the debris that clutters the place in the ensuing firefight in an attempt at cover. It works fairly well, right up until the point where he walks right into my line of fire in his dogged devotion to following the pattern he seems to have mapped out in advance. Avoid repetition in a combat situation at all costs, sir- it'll end up with you receiving a headful of lead, to use a colloquialism.

A voice blasts out of the speakers as I approach the poster-slathered walls that surround the ingress, a jaunty showman's drawl which reminds me to insert my ticket into the machine to gain entry. With a hearty sigh, I wander back the way I came, looking for the ticket office. It's tucked away in a corner, which I failed to notice due to the distracting way that splicer's bullets kept rebounding off my suit. I make my way inside, pausing only to rifle through the cash registers.

Sinclair's voice suddenly blares out through my radio's tinny speakers, startling me and making me knock over the till I'm raiding.

"You're something of a collectible in terms of Big Daddies, son. An 'Alpha Series model', I hear you're called."

I give a cursory nod, trying to gather up the dignity which has been rather torn asunder by my overreaction to my own radio flaring to life.

"Now, you're not the only technological marvel that's lurking down here. If we can sell off a few of the others at the price I'm thinking of- well, sorting your little problem will be easy as pie."

I give a puzzled grunt, unsure of what he means by "little problem". Sinclair's quick to pick up what I'm getting at, and gives a chuckle.

"I know you've been down here a while, chief, but you surely must know that not many people up on the surface sport ten-tonne diving suits and an absence of vocal chords."

Oh. I see.

"Well, once we get out of here and find your little girl, that won't be a problem. You stick with me, kid, and your fortune's as good as made."

His voice fades out again with a snarl of static. I remain motionless, staring at the scattered coins from the register.

Well, of course I knew that these suits are pretty much Protector-specific gear. I just hadn't thought about it until now.

I can't even imagine what it would be like to be- well, human, I guess. To be able to speak, to move without being continually hindered by the strain of fabric, to see a face in a mirror rather than a luminescent sheet of glass. It's not that I'm scared by the idea, just… I can't imagine anything else than my present state of existence. There again, I couldn't of imagined free will not such a long time ago- well, ten years ago, so maybe quite long- and while my thoughts on it are mixed, I certainly don't like the idea of being parted from it. Maybe being human would be the same.

Would I even be the same person, though? So much of my behaviour and mind is defined by this uniform I wear, and by the remnants of the conditioning I still feel in my mind, like rags of cobweb after the centre of the strands has been swept away. Would I still be the "Sir Bubbles" Eleanor remembers from years in the past if that glowing visor is gone?

I shove the thoughts to the back of my mind to deal with later, when Eleanor is out of danger- when everyone else is too, really. For now, I trek down a corridor and come to a Power to the People machine, an event which elicits a fierce double-thumbs-up from me. There's no one around to see it, but finding one of these stations and being able to use it without a crowd of citizens looking down their noses at me deserves one in my opinion***. I use it to add some augers to my drill, increasing the damage I deal either with a spin or when I simply use it to crack people's skulls open. I give it an experimental swing, testing out the momentum, and I give an appreciative nod. We're back in business now, folks. Party's over.

I lower myself down more steps, this time slightly less bitter about the whole affair thanks to the lift in my mood. The stairs lead to the manager's office, which contains an audio diary from the aforementioned manager and a shattered window that gives me access to door control. I listen to the man's grouching on his amusement park being turned into a lecture theatre as I crack the door controls using a hack dart. I stroll through the door-

\- and stop in my tracks when I see a figure sitting bolt upright in a chair in the next room across.

He's not moving, which worries me. Splicers are always moving about, whether they're twitching involuntarily and mumbling to themselves or running at you screaming with a weapon. Him sitting there completely motionless is kind of unnerving. I edge closer, staying in the shadows and making as little noise as I can****. I peer cautiously round the corner- and realise that I'm looking at one of the puppets the manager was talking about before, as I catch sight of a metal hinge through a hole in the knee of the thing's suit and a Little Sister placidly gathering ADAM from a corpse at its feet. I almost bark out a laugh, before I hear that phantom groaning of one of Suchong's Big Daddies and decide that any loud noises might be misinterpreted in an unfortunate way*****. As I watch, the girl runs over to her Protector and the pair walk off together, hand in hand. I turn away from the window, wondering how my own Sister is coping, and find a ticket lying on a desk behind me. I snatch it up and stash it in my glove, and start heading back, thinking with dread of the flights of steps that await me now that the adrenaline from receiving an upgrade has worn off. Say what you like about the idea of being human, but I won't miss the stair negotiations for a second.

 **Footnotes:**

* Seriously, though, what purpose does it serve to make all the Protectors mute? Does speaking make you less loyal to your charge? Or is it that we all used foul language so much that the Sisters picked up some new vocabulary and shocked the staff at Ryan Industries? I don't know, but part of me really hopes it's the latter, if only for the face Dr. Alexander would pull upon being confronted with a cussing small girl.

** Still, the fact that she shone in the tests Lamb inflicted on her causes a smile to briefly twist the corners of my mouth- up until the woman started talking about this being a sign of Eleanor's loyalty to her mother's twisted belief system, that is.

*** We weren't discouraged from using the Power to the People machines as we were from using Gatherer's Gardens, as they required resources we found for ourselves rather than something which would eat into the profits we made for our employers. However, the citizens found it degrading to have to wait behind something they didn't even consider a person in order to arm themselves, and after a few instances where the people lost patience and used their basic weapons to take down the Big Daddy we were rather put off from using them. It would never have occurred to me to use them at all, but Eleanor got so excited at the prospect of "dressing up Daddy's toys!" that I didn't feel I could say no.

**** Which is no picnic when you're wearing a suit that clinks and clatters every time you move.

***** The Alpha Series was developed at around the same time as Suchong's Protectors. Dr. Alexander sneered at the doctor's use of pheromones- I once heard him say that they were a primitive substitute for an actual bond between the two candidates- but I'm guessing he saw the error of his ways once we started berserking when bereft of our Sisters.

 **Author's note:**

 **And we're back in business, folks! Apologies again for the delay. There may be some fluctuations as to the frequency of updates in the coming weeks, but now my computer isn't choking out its last I'll hopefully have more time to write.**


	9. Chapter 9

"Jim Dandy!"

Sinclair's mellow tones spill out of my speakers, bouncing off the inside of my helmet and making my ears ring. I give a hoarse groan, and fiddle with the volume control, trying to adjust it so that every syllable doesn't thwack into my eardrums with quite as much force. When I was trying out the drill upgrade earlier, my swings must've caused the cloth of my suit to catch on the dial, and my subsequent movements wound it up as far as it would go. Now I'm paying the price for my carelessness with my hearing- not that it was much good to begin with, what with the layer of brass between me and the rest of the world.

"Now, although that ticket'll getcha inside, you'll need ADAM to get that plasmid. It's the red stuff that lets you tailor your genes to fit."

I roll my eyes. How bad does Sinclair think my memory is? I was built for the express purpose of protecting those who gathered the chemical, not to mention the fact I had to use copious amounts of the stuff on a daily basis to heal the wounds I sustained in combat not so long ago. In fact, I've had to use quite a bit just now- I'm not sure I have enough left to produce the stem cells that administering Incinerate! will require. Luckily, Sinclair has come up with a solution: find a Little Sister, he says, as they're the ones who carry the goo. There should be one near the Eldorado Lounge, if I hurry.

I head up the stairs, reflecting that Sinclair's plot may not be as easy as he believes it will be to carry out. There's not many of the Sisters without a Protector, and it'll take a while to find one. I don't fancy tramping around this dump for that length of time, but there's no real alternative, so I continue on my way, slamming a splicer with the Electrobolt as I reach the top of the stairs and finishing him off with my newly-improved drill. I turn away from the body, and almost miss the fact that the man conveniently smashed a window displaying a variety of arms before he kicked the bucket- meaning that I can get my hands on the machine gun I see in the starburst of shattered glass.

I shoulder the gun, testing its weight, and pick up some rounds of ammo I see lying at the bottom of the display case. Almost immediately I'm presented with the opportunity to try it out, as I hear one of the splicers complaining about something or other using some rather coarse language*. I stride through the door of the ticket office, and see a group of the things prowling around the entrance. I take aim and open fire, grunting in pain as some of my victims' companions put their own firearms to work on my person. I take them all down, ignoring their screams and one woman's demand that I read their pamphlet at least**. That taken care of, I jam my ticket into a slot in the machine next to the door, and wait impatiently while it grinds its way through processing the thing. Creakily, the entrance opens up, and I walk on through.

Not too far up ahead of me, I see a gene tonic on a stand, which a mannequin is gesturing at enthusiastically. I pick up the bottle, and read the label: "Sports Boost", it says, in large black letters, describing it as a tonic to increase one's speed and agility. Hmm. I dimly remember something similar, which produced massive amounts of pain and not much of an advantage as far as speed went. Still, this one seems marketed towards domestic use- or as domestic as it gets in Rapture, where people treat a suggestion to sacrifice their neighbours to attacking splicers with as much weight and lengthy consideration as a suggestion to have beef instead of lamb for dinner. If the thing is as bad as the one I sampled, I'm guessing it wasn't that popular.

I decide to take the plunge, and shove the needle into the port on my left wrist. It's not as bad as I blearily recall the other one being, though I still need to grit my teeth against the agony that courses its way through my veins. When it's over, though, I find I hasten through the halls with renewed vigor, and decide that if I encounter any other tonics it couldn't hurt to try them; or at least, won't hurt that much.

I come across a series of illuminated dioramas lining one wall, detailing the conception and construction of Rapture. I don't actually know that much about the city, other than that it was founded to satisfy Moustache Man's longing to be free of the "parasites"- what I do know has been learned by eavesdropping on other people's conversations, and even then I disdained most of what I heard as irrelevant to my purpose in life (that of the protection my ward), banishing it into the murky clouds that surround all my memories. I thump the button on the first of the scenes, and see it light up as that jaunty showman from before talks about how Ryan (so that _is_ the man's name) decided to start building Rapture after waking up in the middle of the night. I don't really sleep like humans do***, but I have heard that it can be difficult to nod off again once you wake up. As I progress to the next scene, however, it becomes clear that a lot of the audio tape has eroded over time and sections of the speeches are now distorted beyond understanding, so I won't be finding out more about the city's history any time soon.

Giving up on the thing, I scoop up an audio diary on the floor. This one's from a woman who was chaperoning a class of children as they celebrated New Year at the park- the same night I lost the kid to that monster, Lamb. Taking a deep breath to try and rid myself of the memory, I finish listening to the recording as the woman- Nina Carnegie, according to the label on the tape- hectors a young man named Donny. I smile, thinking of how I would frantically try and warn Eleanor off running away whenever she smelt ADAM- then shut down that line of thought as I remember where it led in the end.

I stride through another door into Ryan Amusements' gift shop, and am almost immediately attacked by a splicer, shrieking that my "kind" isn't allowed here. I riddle his body with bullets, thinking disdainfully that if we're talking about sub-humans, genetic abominations more or less top the list. His friends are angered by my retaliation though, and attack just as I realise that I've run out of ammunition for the machine gun.

I hastily reach for the rivet gun, sinking enough shots into one of the splicers to send him keeling over, wailing all the way. Another one in a welding mask rises up from behind the counter, and manages to dint my helmet before I take him out with a few well-placed rivets.

That seems to be it for now, and I rummage through their pockets while I hum along to "Paper Moon"****. It was one of my favourite songs, back in the day, and Eleanor would sometimes demand we dance to the tune when she saw me absent-mindedly tapping my fingers to the beat. I didn't really have the flexibility in the suit, of course, but I'd shuffle along in time to show willing, and she'd pipe out the melody in her high voice, skipping by my side. I feel a pang of grief- the kid's still out there, of course, but I've missed out on so much of her life. Does she still listen to "Paper Moon"? Does still she sing along? There's just no way of knowing.

I head behind one of the counters in the corner, brushing the thoughts away. I spend a few seconds hacking a safe in order to harvest its contents, and find a diary from a man called Bantam, talking about how someone by the name of Sinclair provided him with a money-making scheme. The scam involved delegating the manufacture of the goods sold in the gift shop to the citizens of Pauper's Drop, who Bantam could purchase his wares off of for less than half the amount he'd have to pay otherwise. It sounds like Sinclair really isn't the sort to let moral qualms get in the way of obtaining cash. I make a mental note to be careful not to get between him and a pile of money.

I leave the room, only stopping to slot a coin in the Fortune-Telling Machine for curiosity's sake*****. I zap the door control for a gate that leads off from the main hallway, and only realise that I've wasted EVE in the grand and glorious cause of invading a bathroom once I'm inside. Nevertheless, I take a few minutes to gather any supplies I find, and happen upon another tape. I give a sigh of irritation when I realise it's one from Lamb. This one is another message to her daughter, pouring scorn on the surface world and declaring Rapture a chance at deliverance. I shudder at the idea of her poison dripping into the kid's ears for ten long years while I was- dead? Dormant? What was I? I still don't know why I'm here, even, as opposed to rotting away in a pool in the Adonis Baths. Whatever the explanation is, however, I'm grateful to have this second chance to save the kid from an eternity beneath the waves- and possibly worse, if Lamb has her claws in her.

I give the cubicle I'm searching one more cursory glance, and turn away-

\- shoot shoot shoot, splicer! Right behind me!

She's not really a threat- a few blows from the drill deals with her- but my blood is still pounding in my veins a few minutes later as I leave through the gate. Gosh darn it, the splicers have talked so much in the time I've been roaming around here that I forgot how stealthily they can move if they want to.

I wander back through to the main hall of the park, and am heading through a corridor to the Eldorado Lounge when my vision mists over with that rosy fog that has heralded the two times my daughter has spoken to me so far.

"Until you come, father, I'm trapped here, I'm afraid- the only way I can help you is with these gifts…"

Her voice trails off, and I'm left gazing at another cart, this one laden with another gene tonic and an audio diary. I examine the tonic, noting with appreciation that by applying it I'll be able to perform more powerful attacks with the drill. Useful as the ranged weapons are, I've had more experience with close-quarters combat, and therefore have a tendency to rely on it quite heavily.

I switch on the diary, and almost switch it off again when I hear Lamb's voice from the speakers. However, it's suddenly cut off, to be replaced with a soprano warble that tugs urgently at my pairbond and causes me to swallow against a sudden lump that's developed in my throat******. It's the kid's voice, chattering happily about an expedition she went on to meet some of the other children that inhabit this graveyard. Apparently, Lamb was against this- but of course she was. For someone so very concerned with altruism, she demonstrates extreme selfishness with surprising frequency. The sour taste that pervades my mouth at the mention of her is sweetened, however, by Eleanor's surprise at finding that the "dog-eaters" her mother had warned her against being not quite as different from herself as she thought. She was always ready to look past other people's appearances and reputations, and accept them for who they were; maybe that's why she bonded so readily to something most people were terrified out of their wits by.

Well, looks like your generosity's paying off, kid. I'm coming to save you, and woe betide anyone who gets in my way.

 **Footnotes:**

* You see, this is why I don't think robbing the Big Daddies of their voice boxes would do anything to prevent the Sisters being exposed to foul language. Most people in the city- certainly the splicers, which are the only people the Sisters are likely to meet apart from their Protectors- cuss themselves blue in the face on a regular basis. Maybe it's supposed to serve as a cautionary tale, though: don't swear, kids, or you might get drilled too!

** Not the sort of thing I'd think of if someone started shooting at me, but ah well. To each his own, I suppose.

*** The construction of the suit means that I find it hard to sit and lie down (I've said it before, and I'll say it again- our designers really had no idea what they were doing). When I do rest, I do it leaning against a wall, bracing my boots against a handily-placed piece of heavy furniture. I wake up usually when my legs give out and I collapse to the floor, which brings on a torrent of agony as the suit cuts into me and shoves its weight onto places where weight really should not go.

**** Well, not so much "hum" as "grumble", but the intent was definitely there.

***** "Maybe in a past life ya did summat awful to someone". Huh.

****** I regret it almost immediately- the conversion process makes anything involving one's throat a painful ordeal.

 **Author's note:**

 **Well, that was a ton of footnotes. If anyone has any idea if there's an alternative to using asterisks, it would be very helpful if you could let me know, as this is getting kind of ridiculous. Anyway, please don't forget to review- I'm grateful for any suggestions on how to improve.**


	10. Chapter 10

The diary tucked into one of my multitude of belts for safe-keeping*, I go through the doorway ahead of me, arriving at another short flight of steps. The room at the top might have once been an elegant bar, but now its wooden fixtures are rotten and waterlogged, and the features of the once-graceful statues are so swollen by mould in some places and so eroded by time in others that they now bear little or no resemblance to their original subject matter. Nevertheless, I can hear a gramophone crackling out dance music from somewhere, a wisp of the Rapture dream that hasn't yet been scrubbed from the city's eyes.

However, the quirky tune is soon drowned out by a sonorous cry, and I realise with a heavy heart that this particular Little Sister still has her Big Daddy with her. I clench my fist in frustration, and turn to leave.

"Where're you goin', chief?"

Sinclair's voice sounds bemused, but altogether good-humoured. He obviously hasn't realised that the Sister is being guarded. I jerk my thumb at the pair who've now wandered into my line of vision, making sure that the gesture is visible to any cameras located in my helmet, and grunt out my irritation.

"There we go, son! Just like I said."

Doesn't he know that the girl's Protector is going to take a dim view of me nabbing her? How the man's survived this long without that knowledge is beyond me, but I suppose it could have happened. Before I get the chance to explain the situation with some inventive mime, however, Sinclair starts talking again.

"Now, as you probably know, the old boy over there won't attack until you do, but if we're gonna get to Lil' Dimples… well, we'll have to take him out."

Oh. I see.

Well, I suppose it's the logical thing to do. After all, we need that ADAM, and the only way we can get it is through that Sister. I'll even be able to free her afterwards, using the plasmid Tenenbaum gave me. It makes sense, but-

\- that Big Daddy was me, up until recently. I know exactly what it's like to be in that position, when some shadow you've overlooked snakes between you and your charge and snatches at her wrist, reaching for the needle clutched in her fingers- or worse, slashing a knife towards her abdomen. You'd think you'd get- well, not used to it, seeing as the sudden wrench on your pairbond feels like Armageddon itself- but it would become a little easier to deal with. It doesn't, though. It always catches you like it's the first time, and you're caught in a raging storm of emotions: loathing, rage, pain and fear. You end up swiping frantically at the attacker with whatever's to hand in the vague hope that you can _make it stop, save her, save her now_.

I remember the last time, when it didn't stop, and I ended up peering out of an emerald haze with that crushing torrent still beating down on me, increasing in ferocity every time I saw the kid's terrified face loom out of the fog. The crashing tidal wave was mostly gone when I woke up, eradicated by the removal of my conditioning, but I still feel an echo of it now, a faint screaming to _save her, save her,_ whatever it takes.

Ironically, it's this remnant of my programming that eventually convinces me to do the deed. I might be inflicting similar pain on this Big Daddy, but if it'll help me rescue Eleanor- well, I'd do anything for that.

I start my preparations for the fight, shooting a layer of trap rivets across a section of floor and salvaging any ammo I can from the surroundings. I find one of the Security Bots lying on the ground, and waste no time in convincing it that protecting me is a good idea. Apart from that, however, there's not much, and it's only a few minutes before I'm taking up a position behind my line of defence and taking aim at the hulking steel giant.

I fire a round with the machine gun at him, sucking in a breath when his portholes change from acid yellow to glaring scarlet. He gives an angry bellow and slowly charges towards me, his drill raised for combat. His heavy footfalls cause some of the mouldering floorboards to give way, but he merely yanks his boots from the cavities and continues on his rampage towards me.

"Unzip him, Mr B! Unzip him!"

I'm distracted by the Little Sister raising a ruckus, thrown off by the fact that one of the childish voices I've long considered my allies is shouting threats at me, and almost get a drill to the faceplate. Thankfully, I'd turned towards the Sister as she shrieked, and the drill comes in at the wrong angle, glancing off the glass and scraping down my helmet. I retreat backwards hastily, firing the machine gun and thinking bitterly about those dormant trap rivets the Protector missed as I go. I stumble at one point, and my shot accidentally misses the helmeted figure and lodges inside my Security Bot, which has been valiantly sinking bullet after bullet into my foe all this time. It gives one more forlorn _beep_ before it explodes in a hail of fire, which is angrily swatted out of the way by the Big Daddy as he strides after me.

I quickly take cover behind a counter, ducking behind it to reload my gun. I fumble it as my opponent stamps his earth-shaking way over, spilling its components over the floor. Growling in annoyance, I fit the drill attachment over my right arm instead, its buckles and clips clicking into position with a series of satisfying _snaps_. I dash out from behind the bar and fire a lightning bolt at the Big Daddy, which causes his body to shake and jitter to a halt until I apply a few spins of the drill. I manage to create a rather large rift in his armour, but the pain has swiftly brought the metal behemoth back into his senses, and he now responds by knocking me backwards by lashing out with his own weapon. I skid across the floor and crash to the ground in a pile of splintered bar stools. I emerge from the debris just in time to see the Big Daddy stalk over to the heap, revving his drill ominously, and quickly roll out of the way as he brings the thing down on the jumble of soggy furniture.

I straighten up, groaning with pain as my suit struggles to accommodate my movement, and see my foe struggling to extract the point of his weapon from the wreckage**. I zap him again, and shove my drill into the aperture I created in his armour, setting it whirling into his exposed flesh. Unfortunately, the drill's disadvantages work against me this time, as my opponent comes to and I can't get the thing to disengage. He manages to get a couple of good swipes at me before I can escape to safer ground, ripping some sizeable tears in my own suit. I glimpse his Little Sister behind him as she screams for him to X my eyes, and try to lead the fight away from her***, backing away as he swings his weapon in an attempt to land a hit before I retreat out of his reach. One of his blows connects, and my vision blurs and doubles as he clobbers me again and again. Finally, I manage to gather the presence of mind to sting him with my electrifying plasmid, which gives me enough time to regain my senses fully and fire a few shots from the rivet gun into that rift in his plating. He gives a wail, and charges towards me again; but by this time we've circled the room and ended up back at the area where I planted those traps. He writhes in pain, and then collapses backwards, folding up into a filthy, rusty pile.

I breathe out heavily as my radio starts to thrum with static, heralding another message.

"Take a breather, kid- you've earned it." I give a sigh of relief when I realise it's Sinclair again- dealing with Lamb's passive-aggressive insults is not something I have the energy to do right now. "When you're ready, pick up that girl there and she'll think you're her own Daddy. "

I shoot a glance at the Sister, and immediately wish I hadn't. She's bowed over the body of her Mr Bubbles, sobbing and grief-stricken, pleading for him to get up. I feel a twist of guilt tug on my innards, and gnash my teeth against it. I'm doing this for Eleanor, remember.

I walk slowly over to the kid, who hears my heavy footsteps and turns around, a hopeful smile beginning to dawn on her tear-stained face.

"Daddy- is- is it you?"

I look at her mutely, without so much as a grunt or groan- I just can't bring myself to. However, my dead silence doesn't seem to trouble her, and soon she latches onto my leg in a fierce hug.

"You're back, Daddy- you're back! Are we gonna play again?"

In lieu of an answer, I bend down to pick her up****. She reaches out her hands and grips onto my forearms, giving a delighted giggle as her feet leave the floorboards. I settle her on my shoulders after a few moments of working out where she can perch amid the tanks and tubes which worm their way over my torso, and soon we're off, her whispering directions to the nearest ADAM-rich corpse, myself trying to find a way to displace the remorse I feel tugging at my insides.

 **Footnotes:**

* I don't normally keep the recordings, or I wouldn't be able to walk under the weight- but this is a present from Eleanor, and so I'm prepared to make an exception.

** And behold a perfect example as to why I'm so reluctant to use the drill spin unless I really have to.

*** They may heal fast, but the Sisters still feel pain. I get the feeling I'm going to have to deal with enough guilt as it is, without maiming a little girl.

**** The kid never rode on my shoulders, but I've seen other Daddies do it, and after what happened ten years ago I really do not want this Sister running off alone.


	11. Chapter 11

Well, in my experience (which is admittedly limited in the "guilt" department, what with having no free will until recently and all), the best way to deal with unwanted emotions is to ignore them and bury yourself in other affairs. The vice-like grip of remorse is somewhat easier to cope with if you're also trying to cope with the vice-like grip of a splicer on your drill, which is what I'm doing now. There's still some splintered logic in the wreckage of this one's mind, not quite destroyed by the roaring tidal wave of ADAM he's forced into his systems, which has led him to brace himself against the drill's framework at just such an angle as to render it impossible for me to attack or dislodge him. I give a growl of irritation, and beat him against a Circus of Values machine, trying to break his clammy hold on the device. He's stubborn, but one of my lashings slams him into one of the jagged corners, and he lets go with a shriek of pain. I swiftly finish him with a swipe of the drill, and hurry back to where the Sister I've adopted is busily jabbing the body we've found with a needle, serenely unaware of the splicers clustering at the edges of the room.

It strikes me, as I disperse the crowd with the aid of a few rivets, that this Sister is a whole lot slower than Eleanor ever was. Though the kid's habit of running off on the job did send me into a panicked frenzy, at least she finished promptly- and didn't bring a mob of abominations down on us. There again, splicers were a whole lot less common in those days, and any who were around were conditioned by several unpleasant experiences to respect the slitted helmet of the Alpha Series and keep their distance. These ones swarm like wasps to warm jam, not recognising my model and therefore not seeing me as a significant threat*.

"Daddy! Help me, please!"

Shoot! I crash to the centre of the ring of monsters that is beginning to surround the body and the girl, who's struggling in the grip of a wizened male armed with a length of lead pipe. The image painfully jerks at my memories of the kid, and I let out a snarl of fury, charging forward to knock the thing back with the butt of my gun. As he lies spitting and swearing on the floor, I take aim and shoot him through the head. The girl goes back to her task after a hasty "Thank you!", humming unconcernedly as if nothing had happened, though the floor around the corpse she's using is now a shiny scarlet. I turn back to my own job, shooting down a couple more of the aberrations as they dash through the doorways facing me. I don't have to worry about the two at my back: I lined the frames with a thick layer of trap rivets a few seconds after the attack started, and even now I hear the squeals and explosions that tell me the mines are still doing their job.

"Just a little itty-bitty now, Daddy…"

I turn around quickly to give her the thumbs-up, and almost miss the three women that smash through the left-hand doorway in quick succession. I take aim and slash right through them with the Electrobolt, grunting in concentration as I focus on directing the veering beam of lightning through each torso. The Sister giggles as they stand there, jittering in a bizarre conga line.

"They're dancing, Daddy!"

As I buckle on the drill, I wonder briefly what kind of a number the conditioning did on her brain for her to laugh at such a disturbing sight, before deciding I don't really want to know. Instead, I stride down the splicer crocodile, swinging the drill against their skulls as I go. I turn back around just in time to catch one of those monstrosities dressed in medical whites dashing towards the Sister, and manage to get him with the Electrobolt too. He's swiftly dealt with by a twist of the drill, which causes him to collapse at the Sister's feet as she stands gulping ADAM from her bottle. She gives a heavy sigh as she finishes, then looks brightly up at me.

"All done now!"

I give her another thumbs-up sign, after making sure that there are no other creatures lurking in the shadows. She looks at the gesture curiously, then laughs and makes one back at me, her little fist looking downright microscopic next to my huge paw. Her laughter is quickly cut off by Lamb's crystalline tones crackling out of my helmet.

"That child belongs to the Family, Delta. It is not a toy for you to pick up and discard as you see fit. Let her go, _now_."

The Sister, startled at first by the crackle of the transmission, has now grown bored with listening, and is jumping up and down with her arms held out in the universal children's signal for "up". I reach downwards and gather her into my arms, eliciting an excited crow from her as she ascends.

"Very well." Lamb's voice holds none of the heat that usually accompanies anger- instead, it grows colder, frost wrapping around the syllables like the grip of a strangling snake. "You know, it's poetic that you will meet your end here. Another tyrant, rusting away in Ryan's shrine to the self."

I listen to her condemnation of my ego and exploitation, all the while her description of the girl on my back as "it" running round and round my brain. I grit my teeth and trudge away to find the next body, hearing with satisfaction the scratching fog of static that marks the end of the message.

However, my satisfaction is quickly brought to an end when my ears detect the scraping sound of someone loosening the seal on one of my tanks. I twist my helmet to see the Sister unscrewing the cap on the ADAM container, who looks up from her task to give me a cheery wave. I gesticulate desperately for her to stop, not wanting to find out what'll happen if you leave ADAM administration in the hands of a seven- or eight-year-old child, but she pays me no heed, and pours the contents of her syringe into the tank with a smile.

"Say thank you, Daddy!"

The effect is instantaneous. The gashes and grazes that occurred in the battle after my own supplies of the drug ran out start to knit together, their edges twisting and writhing as they tangle themselves to form unbroken skin**. This would normally be all to the good- and don't get me wrong, I'm very glad this Sister's well-trained in her job and hasn't emptied the stuff into the wrong port- but I needed to save that ADAM in order to get enough for the plasmid. Now, we'll probably have to gather from another corpse as well. I fold my arms and tilt my helmet reproachfully at her, which makes her wince guiltily.

"You were all leaky, Daddy," she says, twisting her stubby fingers together. "I wanted to stop it."

I sigh, but not too heavily: although her actions have set us back a bit, I don't have the heart to criticise one of the only truly selfless acts I've seen since- well, since I lost the kid. I give her another thumbs-up, trying to let her know that I'm not really angry. It must work, because soon she's humming cheerfully to herself again as we traipse down another corridor, breaking off occasionally to give me directions as the location of our next target or to tell me seriously that the man in the moon is a girl. This last comment tugs painfully on my insides- I remember Eleanor liked to tell me facts she'd picked up from somewhere or another, some of them accurate, others less so. In the haze I existed in during those years, I wasn't much concerned with anything other than safe-guarding the little girl, but even then I felt there was something wrong when she informed me that six times two was chicken.

We locate another "angel" that meets with the Sister's approval, and she hammers on my tank for me to lower her. I don't let her get to work straight away, though- the last time we did this, I didn't realise how bad the splicer situation had got, and so I didn't properly prepare. As a result, I ended up frantically trying to establish defensive measures whilst simultaneously defending my partner.

Now, I'm more careful, shooting down a couple of trap rivets at every entrance and salvaging as many supplies from the area as I can, all the while scouting for oil slicks and water patches I can use to conduct my plasmids. The Sister's impatient, pounding a constant tattoo on my tanks with her fists and feet, but she quiets down when I give her another reproachful look***.

Whilst rummaging through the ruins, I come across another tape. This one's by Moustache Man, talking about Lamb becoming a problem. I find myself inclined to agree with him on that point, although for different reasons- he objects to her being a collectivist, whereas I myself find the casual way she conducts kidnappings and murders more troubling. From the recording, this is not the full extent of her crimes, either: she used her position as a psychiatrist as a front to indoctrinate her patients with "religion", or so Moustache Man says, spitting out the last word like so many ashes in his mouth. I think back to the "Reborn" messages I've seen plastered across the walls, and feel a chill slither down my back. Lamb doesn't seem the type to patiently wait for rebirth- if she's offering it, it's a pretty safe bet that she's trying to make it happen with all her might. And Eleanor's been under her wing for ten years.

I'm so perturbed by the thought that I almost miss Moustache Man resolving to call in Sinclair at the very end of the diary. I'm not quite sure what Sinclair's profession was back in the day, but it seems as if he was quite the jack of all trades- pulling people onto the shady side of the city with one hand and serving Rapture's bigwigs with the other. The fact I'm working with him now unnerves me all the more, but I shove my doubts and fears to one side as I set the Sister to harvesting. If events earlier taught me one thing, it's that you need to focus on the task in hand in this new Rapture- particularly if the task in hand involves dealing with the bloodthirsty inhabitants of it.

 **Footnotes:**

* You might have thought that my appearance- even without the dread reputation the Alpha Series used to have- would be enough to make them stay away, and if splicers were regular humans in full possession of their mental capabilities, you'd be right. But most of the things have had their ability to reason ripped out of their skulls by the current of gene-altering liquid they continually pump into themselves, so it never occurs to them that it might be a bad idea to attack the heavily-armoured gent built like a brick wall.

**Greyish and clammy unbroken skin, but I'll take what I'm given

*** Is it even possible to give someone a "look" when your eyes are obscured? It seems to communicate my message fairly well, but all the same, I feel like the presence of a visor means that an integral part of the action is lacking.

 **Author's Note:**

Finally, I'm back. My sincere apologies for the long wait for this chapter. Unfortunately, it looks like I might have to adopt a chapter-a-week schedule in order to cope with work as well- although I'll update more often if I can. Again, sorry about this, but it's just not feasible to continue the way I've been going on. My thanks to you all for sticking with me.

Also, many thanks for your reviews and favourites! I apologise for not thanking you individually, but I appreciate your feedback so much- it's basically what this fic runs on. More comments and suggestions would be very much welcomed- as previously stated, I'm new to this business, and so I need all the help I can get to improve. Thank you so much!


	12. Chapter 12

"Pat it, and poke it, and mark it with 'A', and put it in the oven for Daddy and-"

The Sister's song breaks off suddenly, and her small face looks up at me, suddenly creased with worry. "Daddy, 'A' doesn't rhyme with 'me'."

I give a reassuring grumble, then reach out a hand to her. She takes it with a smile, her features relaxing as I lift her up onto my shoulders again.

"Well, if you don't mind," she says, carefully unscrewing the cap of the ADAM tank, getting ready to pour in her spoils. I quickly reach out a hand behind me to stop her.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" she says, her voice suddenly anxious again. I clench my hand quickly into a hasty thumbs-up, and then point to a Gatherer's Garden machine, hoping she'll realise I need to save the drug for after I've administered the plasmid.

The kid's quick, and she catches on a moment later with a drawn-out " _Oh_ ,". She promptly fastens the cap back on again, then makes the thumbs-up signal right in front of my helmet so I can't miss it.

"Well, isn't this touchin',"

I start involuntarily, eliciting a gasp from the Little Sister as her seat jerks beneath her. I'd forgotten Sinclair was still there- I haven't heard from him since the first gather, where he warned me to be careful*.

My startled reaction and subsequent embarrassment** prompts a hearty chuckle from the man.

"Nice to see you looking lively, sport. Now, we've almost got enough ADAM for you to use that plasmid, but to get the rest you'll need to take care of Lil' Sis back there."

With a growing sense of foreboding, I glance over my shoulder, where the kid is lolling back among the pipes and tubes from the tanks and singing a song about Lollipop Land, or some such place. I don't know exactly what the man means by "taking care" of the girl, but I have a suspicion that it won't be pleasant.

Sinclair seems to be aware of my unease. "Don't worry about it, chief- just take her to one of those vents the Sisters are so fond of. There should be one in the workshop."

He signs off, his voice fading away into a mist of crackles. I heave a sigh, and get ready to leave the area.

We're in the middle of one of several dioramas, surrounded by animatronics. There's always been something about these things that unnerved me, even when Eleanor and I were doing the rounds and I had as much self-awareness as one of them, but this lot are really something else. Not only do they have the glassy stare and frozen facial expressions of most of their kind, but the years of neglect have not been kind to them, and now they're all missing limbs or half their faces. For curiosity's sake, I thump the button that powers this one, which depicts a family in front of their television, posed in a cosy domestic scene. It's made slightly less cosy by the fact that the father's arm, once curled tenderly about his wife's shoulders, has now fallen behind the sofa, and the woman's jaw lies rotting away on her own lap. As the figures begin to twitch into life, one of the son's legs falls off and clatters away onto the floor, still sparking and twitching slightly as it lies on the filthy boards. The Sister on my shoulder responds with an "Eew!", half-disgusted, half-fascinated.

Moustache Man's voice fizzes out from ancient speakers, his words honeyed with condescension as he speaks of their naivety, believing themselves safe inside the system.

"But what says the parasite? 'No!'"

The lights suddenly flare bright red, and a large hand emerges slowly from the door in the wall. The girl on my shoulders stops moving about and simply stares, dumb-struck with horror, as the child is dragged away to fight in a war, thrashing his remaining three limbs as he slides out of the door. I extend a large hand upwards, and awkwardly pat the small fists clenched in her lap. She clutches onto one of my fingers, and holds it with a boa constrictor's grip.

I blink slowly, not quite understanding what I just saw. This is a park to entertain children, isn't it? That woman, Carnegie, she was taking a class of them to see this stuff. I think back to Eleanor's rueful observations in that diary that she wasn't allowed out, and concede, grudgingly, that Lamb might have had a point this time.

We head down the stairs to the basement without further ado, the girl still clinging onto my finger. It makes it harder than usual to keep my balance on the narrow steps, but I grit my teeth and bear it. Gritting my teeth, however, doesn't help me when a splicer lurches round the corner at high speed, and I miss my footing and crash down on top of him, the Sister screaming all the way. Luckily, I managed to slide to the bottom to the flight instead of tumbling, and her handholds on the tanks served her well, but the whole escapade has put me in an awful mood, and I take rather more satisfaction in clubbing the jerk around the head than I would normally do.

The kid gives a little sigh of relief when he isn't moving any more, and settles herself more comfortably on her perch. I continue on my way, only stopping to rummage the bodies which litter the place and to spend my loot at a Circus of Values machine (which causes the girl to sternly tell it that laughing isn't funny, "you naughty clown"). The corridor twists and turns past an Ammo Bandito and a vita-chamber, before terminating in a vent.

"Well done, chief- you found it."

It's Sinclair on the radio again. "Now, Tenenbaum would want you to save that Sister there, turn her human again with that plasmid of yours. But ADAM's the currency Rapture runs on, sport- an' that girl there's a fortune. Help you save your own Sister, no doubt." I'm silent. "Think about it, chief. I'll get back in touch once you've dealt with her." His voice tails off, and I'm left staring at the vent.

I don't want to do it. That Sister on my shoulders- well, as Sinclair said when I first picked her up, she trusts me as if I was her own Protector. The thought of using her as just another tool to help me find Eleanor twists something in my gut.

But, on the other hand- Eleanor's my charge, isn't she? Not this kid (I suddenly regret calling her that: it brings back all the times I referred to my own Sister as such). There's no knowing what Lamb's doing to her daughter, either; it could be a whole lot worse than death. The ADAM this Sister carries would help me a lot, I know, even with my relative lack of knowledge regarding plasmid purchasing. What should I do? What's the greater good in this situation?

My mind's still rife with indecision as I reach up behind me and lift the kid down from her seat. She smiles up at me, thinking she's going back into the vent system, blissfully unaware of the debate raging behind my visor. Seeing me hesitate, she wriggles slightly, eager to get to bed to sleep off the excess ADAM she's gorged on. Suddenly, she laughs, and points behind me, towards the vent. Glancing where she's pointing, I see a pair of narrowed eyes squinting out at us, glowing with the luminescence that characterises the gaze of a Little Sister.

"She wants a for-real Daddy too!"

It's then I know that I can't do it. No matter what kind of danger Eleanor's in, I have no right to do this, not only to this little girl, but to her real Daddy, or her Mummy, or whatever family she has. Their home has already been torn apart enough by Lamb's machinations, her plans to use these girls as a stepping stone to help "the greater good". I wince as I think of my earlier use of that phrase, how close to becoming something like that I was. Using this child as a way to gain more supplies for myself, like just another first aid kit or EVE syringe, under the pretext that my own need was greater than her's. No one should get to judge something like that. No one.

I will Tenenbaum's plasmid into activation, pressing my palm against the kid's forehead as I do so. Her eyes flare brightly, and I'm temporarily blinded by their light. When my vision returns, I'm looking at a normal little girl, who shyly whispers a "Thank you," before clambering up into the vent. I stand there as she struggles, feeling guilt broiling inside of me. I didn't deserve that thanks at all.

My brooding is interrupted by Sinclair's dulcet tones. "Well, well, looks like that 'hollow mask' had a heart behind it after all." He sounds thoroughly unimpressed by this sign of humanity. "Or at least, so some folks would say. Myself, I think it's more gullibility than anything else, but you have enough ADAM for the plasmid now- just about." I look down at the bottle of scarlet liquid the Sister's left in my hand, and nod. "Now, head on over to the Hall of the Future and get it."

I trudge off obediently, glancing back only once to see the girl disappear into the pipe with a final wave. I observe belatedly that Sinclair didn't use one of his nicknames in that last little message, but I find I can't bring myself to care. I might have broken up the camaraderie that was beginning to form between us, and I might still stand on fairly shaky moral ground, but there's one more girl joining Tenenbaum's little group, and for that, at least, I'm glad.

 **Footnotes:**

* His pleas, unfortunately, fell on deaf ears- I was pretty sure he had got things out of proportion, and was both overestimating the threat splicers posed and underestimating the power of a Big Daddy. Suffice it to say, I was wrong on both counts.

** You wouldn't think such an emotion would register, given the whole "armour and opaque faceplate" combo, but since I was paired with the kid I've got into the habit of amplifying my body language so that anyone watching can interpret my thoughts and feelings with greater ease. Just now, I was hunching my shoulders and glancing round quite a bit, which caused the Sister to swat at me and tell me that "No one's there, silly Daddy".

 **Author's note:**

 **So, yes, I think this is the first time I laid off the snark for an extended period. I'm rather paranoid I've made it too sappy, so any reviews or comments would be very much appreciated. Many thanks to those who favourited- it means a lot.**


	13. Chapter 13

I'm definitely in two minds about the splicers that inhabit this wreck. On one hand, I feel like they must be getting cleverer, or at least more tactically-savvy. This couple was lying in wait for me when I made my way up from the depths of the basement, and it was a pretty effective ambush. On the other hand, they don't seem to realise that I no longer carry a Sister, and that attacking someone who stands at seven feet and is heavily armed with all the weaponry he can carry might be a bad idea.

This is especially ironic given that my current foe, a woman with an accent that vaguely resembles that of Mary Poppins*, keeps boasting of her superior intellect in strident tones.

"You may have brawn on your side, sir, but I have brains!"

I shrug and clout her over the head with the drill, sending her flying across the room. She's down but not out, and she promptly starts firing the small pistol I saw tucked into her belt when she first attacked. I'd finish her off, but her companion, a man in surgical whites, is trying to crack my faceplate by twisting the wrench he carries into the rim, and I have to take him out before he causes any permanent damage.

As it happens, the woman's bullets actually help me out: her poor aim causes her to sink a shot into the man's thigh. He drops his weapon and turns to scream a curse at her, whereupon I slam the point of my drill into his abdomen. I give it a few turns, wincing at the mess, and then finish off the woman with a blow or two to the skull.

I breathe out, and scrape my drill clean before continuing on my way. I spot a Circus of Value up ahead and amble over to it, rummaging in the pocket on my right sleeve where I keep the change I've been picking up. That encounter was brief, but the injuries I sustained together with those I already carry are serious enough to warrant the application of some ADAM. I've got enough to activate Incinerate! when I find the Garden Sinclair was talking about, but because I only obtained a small amount of the stuff when I freed the Sister I can't afford to waste any. If I want to heal up, I'll need to get a first aid kit from this machine.

As I wait for the rusted mechanisms to kick in and dispense the kit (along with some drill fuel- sorting out that pair of abominations didn't come cheap), I notice another audio log. This one's from a fellow I haven't heard from before- one Stanley Poole. He worked for Sinclair back in the day, according to his diary, at a firm called "Sinclair Solutions". It turns out I'd been wrong about Sinclair hiding the illegitimate side of his business from the higher-ups: Ryan apparently called him in to discretely "deal with" any problems that emerged in paradise. I may not know much about how this society worked, but I have an idea what "dealing with" meant, and it's not a pleasant one. I pity whoever those "problems" were.

Jabbing the syringe-full of ADAM into my wrist-port, I continue through the maze of corridors, shuddering slightly as my wounds fizz and froth as they close. I'm still in the backstage area, where the walls are lined with rotting wooden debris, and synthetic body parts for the mannequins drift in puddles of oil-laced water. I edge round their mouldering forms, my eyes averted- I can cope with actual severed body parts, but something about the staring eyes on those heads makes me feel as if someone used the Swarm plasmid on me and my suit's crawling with insects. I quickly find the doorway to the "Journey to the Surface" ride again, and trek back along the cart rails to the exit. A set of stairs later, and I'm almost back in the Hall of the Future.

I'm just about to go in when I notice an office to the right-hand side of the entrance, which looks to have some ammo in it. I head inside and quickly strip the place of anything useful, pausing to collect another diary before going back out. It's another one from Ms Carnegie, recorded once the children she was looking after had gone to sleep. She seems half-asleep herself, drowsily whispering her hopes for the new year into the machine in a voice that resembles those of the Sisters in its pitch and sing-song tone. It suddenly grows more urgent, however, as she realises that the lights are being turned off and that something is happening. She calls for her little group to stay put as the hubbub around them starts to rise- and that's the end of the recording. Whatever happened to her next, something in me knows that the woman and her charges probably didn't survive, and it's with a heavy heart I clamber up the steps that lead to my destination.

As I enter, I hear the sound of raised voices, and I realise that a pair of splicers have already claimed the Hall as their own. Although they appear to be colleagues of a sort, there's no camaraderie between the pair- they snipe and snip at each other like wild dogs, pouring out a steady torrent of insults as they go about their business. However, when I make my appearance, they both cease in their taunting and attack me together. Even the turret they were working on sparks to life and joins in the assault. I charge towards the male with drill raised and clobber him over the head with it, ignoring the turret's frenzied _bleeps_ as it swivels to face me. The man's corpse sagging to the floor, I turn to the woman, who's gotten her hands on the wrench they were using to work on their defenses and is now swinging it wildly. She hasn't really got the upper body strength to strike a proper blow, and I would be able to take her out easily if it hadn't been for the turret finally locking onto my position and discharging several rounds at me. Most do nothing more than dent the metal of my equipment, but one sinks into my shoulder, and I let out a grating bellow of pain before dashing out of the thing's range. The female follows me, her makeshift club dragging along the uneven ground with a shrill screech that makes me wish it were possible for me to clap my hands over my ears. I swing the drill at her, but while it sends her sprawling head-over-heels, it doesn't finish her off, and soon she's on her feet again. I notice that she's retained some of her mental capabilities: instead of trying to fight me herself, she's herding me into the range of the turret, brandishing her wrench and feinting right and left as I attempt to skirt around her. I manage to swing my drill up at such an angle that it catches her shoulder, and she's knocked off to one side- but not before I hear the trill of notes that signals that I've stepped a little too close to her defense system. Thinking quickly before it can start firing, I swerve to the side and duck down- just as the monster behind me rears up again. The spray of bullets hits her squarely in the chest, and she lets out a little cry as she collapses to the floor again. As she does so, I discard the drill attachment and fish out my hack tool from its holster, hitting the turret with a dart before it can seek out its next target. I hack quickly, and a few seconds later I can stand upright again without fear of being riddled with holes.

For the first time since I entered the room, I have the chance to observe my surroundings- not that there's anything much to see, what with the years that have gone by and the decay and degradation they brought with them. There's still some life in the room, however, in the form of a large mural on the wall opposite the ingress. It depicts a crowd of smiling faces, all supposedly spliced up on a variety of plasmids. I doubt they are really, however, because no one seems to be hideously disfigured save the man in the centre, who's developing an interesting blue-black growth on his arm. He's holding a little girl, who in turn is holding- holy smokes, is that a plasmid? How young did people start splicing here towards the end? The broken wrecks I've had to fight were bad enough, but the idea that there might be kids somewhere who've had their bodies and minds torn to shreds by that accursed chemical makes my stomach sour.

I head through the door to the right of the picture, and find another of those underwater corridors that dominate Rapture's architecture. The ocean outside is so dark that I almost miss the skeletal figure that lurks behind the glass, its murky diving suit concealing it from a casual glance. However, the past few hours have made me something more than casual in my scoutings, and I recognise that ruby glare that shines from its porthole. The Big Sister stares at me, then flips over and swims downwards, her body flicking and twisting like an eel's. I try and peer into the depths of the chasm she's disappeared into, but her shape is soon lost amongst the shadows.

"So, Subject Delta."

I start at the sound of a voice, then narrow my eyes as I recognise Lamb's clinical tones.

"You would drain the very life from the city to satisfy your greed." I give a derisive snort, which seems to annoy her. "Rapture lives on yet, Delta. I am its voice, and Big Sister is its hand. But you? You are a disease, a "parasite", if you will-" -she pauses here to give a quiet "hmph" that supposedly constitutes laughter- "- and you have outstayed your welcome. Your time is over."

She signs off, the radio belching out a blast of static as her proclamation dies away. I trudge on to the next room, picking up another recording as I do so. It's another from our old friend Mr Alexander, complaining about how many of the Alpha Series are vanishing due to their lack of loyalty towards the Gatherers. He mentions the nickname "Big Daddies", and it's with a feeling of foreboding that I hear him musing on the creation of a lethal bond between the two candidates. The tape winds up as I approach the Gatherer's Garden, the static swamped by the slogans that still blare out of the speakers. I quickly purchase Incinerate!, and unfasten the seal on my ADAM tank to add the plasmid to the mix. A burning surge of liquid through the needles in my wrists heralds its activation, and I brace myself against the machine as a wave of pain hits me. Grunting slightly, I heave myself upwards on unsteady legs when it's over, and head back along the corridor as the announcer's voice congratulates me on becoming a genetic abomination. I can't help but feel some amusement at its suggestion that the plasmid could spice up one's love life- there's only so many people who are willing to share a romantic evening with a tin can, after all. Nevertheless, I blast the logs in the fireplace of a display meant to depict one of the aforementioned "romantic evenings", and watch as the flames roar along a train of oil and engulf the two canoodling mannequins on the settee. As disturbing as it is to watch them blacken and fall apart, I can't help but stifle an amused grunt. That girl is going to be all over you, sir!**

I make my way past another display and- shoot, a freaking splicer! He was crouched down among the models, so I didn't notice him up until now, when he charged out swinging a length of pipe. As I smack him round the head with the drill, I wonder absent-mindedly if he was waiting there all the time I was in there (and if he was, why he didn't attack me when I was splicing up), or if he crept in afterwards, rather than waiting round the corner. Both seem more trouble than they're worth, but the ADAM's probably knotted his brain into a pretzel by this point, so both explanations are plausible.

Stepping over his body, I continue onwards, as the announcer asks as to whether I'll help Carl light his cigar. Well, certainly I will- one snap of my fingers, and everyone at his party will start burning alive! Truly, plasmids guarantee domestic bliss.

I wonder what Lamb's using the ADAM for. If it's anything like the suggestions presented to me here, I best get Eleanor out of there as soon as possible. She was always rather proud of her hair, and she'd probably prefer to get out of here without it being set on fire.

 **Footnotes:**

* Who is Mary Poppins, you ask? I have no idea; the name just came into my head when I heard this splicer ranting about her heirlooms. Maybe she was a colleague of Moustache Man's, or something.

** Actually, her ash did kind of go everywhere as she crumbled, so maybe there's some truth to the advertising after all.

 **Author's note:**

 **And finally, we're back! Many thanks to those who favourited and followed this story. Your support is very much appreciated.**

 **Any comments and feedback are welcome, as always. Thank you for reading.**


	14. Chapter 14

I'm heading back out of the Hall of the Future when I'm suddenly engulfed in a shower of sparks. The television screens that line either side of the corridor are their source, I realise, as one by one they fizzle out like so many dying fireflies. Heart thumping, I step back a pace, into the darkness that now shrouds the corners of the room. I don't know what it was that killed the screens, but given that they've endured ten years of heaven knows what and were still managing to blink their "STANDBY" messages up until a few seconds ago, it can't have been a mere technical glitch.

I inch down the hallway, sticking close to the walls in an attempt to avoid alerting anyone who might be watching to my presence. I wince as an unholy shriek from up ahead causes the glass above me to give a tortured groan, threatening to give way under the fathoms of water it's supporting. I'm not sure what made that noise, but given the fact that its very voice caused this place to shake from top to toe, it's probably not going to be easy to deal with. Gritting my teeth, I continue on. The door to the foyer opens begrudgingly, grinding against the rust, and I edge awkwardly through it. The drill attachment's clipped to my right hand, and my left's flaring with the glow of my new plasmid. Whatever new abomination is haunting the room before me, I'm determined that it won't catch me off guard. Despite my caution, however, I'm startled by the hoarse scream that looms out of the darkness, whose echoes cause the hall to tremble and more sparks to spray out of the metal fixings. I stumble as the corridor tilts around me, and end up on my knees.

That's why I'm startled when the crashing squeal of metal being slammed together courses through the air, and I only just manage to get out of the way as a hail storm of shrapnel pelts towards me.

The projectiles smash into the wall of the tunnel, flying outwards in a jagged starburst. They weren't flung with enough force to break the glass, but their impact has left an array of deep scratches on the surface- which start to leak as the attacker gives another agonisingly shrill screech, bemoaning the fact that their onslaught missed its mark. I hurry up the steps into the main hallway, eager to be out of the corridor before it caves in completely.

The vault door slams down behind me, and I turn to see that my foe is none other than a Big Sister, almost identical to the one that pretty much wiped the floor with me back in the Adonis. Oh, what joy. Unfortunately, the sight of me advancing towards her has enraged the creature further, and she lets loose a volley of fireballs, forcing me to take cover behind a broken-down slot machine. The searing flames liquidise the top half of my barricade, and I wish fervently that I could access my rivet gun so I wouldn't have to go near the thing. I'm forced to retaliate using plasmids instead, however, due to the cumbersome straps which bind the drill to my right arm. I'm not as practised with Incinerate! as the Big Sister is, and so the spray of fire from my hand veers crazily up and down the displays as I try frantically to trap that lithe figure with it. She evades most of my desperate swipes easily, but a lucky blow catches her across the shins and she buckles under the pain, giving me the opportunity to charge in and clobber her soundly with the drill. She gives one of those squealing cries, and tries to dig her needle into my abdomen, but I knock it out of the way with the back of my hand and continue my assault.

Sadly, nothing good can last forever, and she manages to get me far enough away that she can once again lash out with her plasmids. I duck as a flaming missile flies over my head, focusing on my left hand until my glove's opening once again blazes up. I'm getting more used to Incinerate! now, and I manage to set her alight first try. For a creature so often found swimming outside the buildings, she seems curiously combustible, dissolving into a screaming inferno in a few sconds, her limbs thrashing as she tries desperately to extinguish the fiery tongues which lick at her. I feel slightly nauseated by the sight- the thing looks strangely human when it's vulnerable like this- and rush in once again with my drill in hopes of finishing this quickly. The Big Sister has no such desire, however, and forces my drill away with the length of her syringe. Our weapons tangle as we struggle to land a blow, the drill whirring as I try to locate a weak point in her suit, the point of the needle clicking as she thrusts it deep into my attachment's mechanisms. I manage to shake her off before she can do any permanent damage, but now the drill seems to have jammed and we're back to where we were before, pacing around each other waiting for our opponent's move. Although most of the flames were beaten out during our confrontation, she seems in poor shape, but I'm not much better off- my weapon's out of commission and I'm running low on EVE, meaning that I've got no long-range attacks to use.

We continue to circle each other around a bench in the centre of the room, until she loses patience and starts flinging out fire again. Now, however, I can do nothing but back out of the way of her attacks, wishing she would come closer-

\- hang on. This bench-

I swiftly vault on top of the seat and leap towards my foe, who only just has time for one more rusty screech before I bring my drill down and finish them off.

As their slender body crumples to the ground, I realise guiltily how very young my enemy looks in death, so thin and frail without the blazing veil of the plasmids screening them from view. I feel a mad urge to remove its helmet, to see exactly what I'm dealing with- no human, surely, could make such a battle cry- but resist. I can't stop for such frivolities: I have to get back to the train and find the kid.

"Holy smokes, son!"

I start as Sinclair's voice crackles its way through my speakers.

"Not even a Big Sister can take you down!" His tone is admiring, and I feel something like pride stirring in my chest. That's the first time I've heard a compliment from anyone apart from a Little Sister, I think, and it makes a nice change. "Well, if you're done here, come back to the station. We're getting out of here."

He fades away again, and I pause only to grab some supplies from the creature's corpse before continuing on. I found some ADAM among them, which was surprising- usually when anything gets ahold of ADAM in Rapture it shoves it into its veins immediately, before anyone else can take it off their hands, or take their hands off whilst trying to do so. Still, I expect not many things care to trouble the Big Sisters, so I suppose they have the luxury of being able to save the stuff if they want to.

I make my way back to the station, stopping in a hallway to thaw some ice trapping a heap of useful gear*. As I fish the items out of their chilly puddle, I find an audio diary that had been trapped alongside them. Miraculously, it somehow still works- the things must have been designed with Rapture's leaking problem in mind. It's a recording by a Grace Holloway, a singer whose lover disappeared after he made too many snarky comments about Moustache Man's rule. Ms Holloway, left behind, lives in fear that soon she'll follow him, singing songs whose patriotism feels like a slap in the face to his memory. It's a tragic tale, but probably a fairly common one, given that diary from Mr Poole about Sinclair making a business of "disappearing" any unfortunates who sought to oppose Moustache Man's dream.

Speaking of Sinclair, I'm coming up to the Atlantic Express now, where I'll get to finally meet the man. I ease my way down two flights of stairs- once again, my thanks to both this place's architects and this suit's designers- and wait while the door cranks upwards. Rounding the corner, I can see the ice still hasn't relinquished its frozen grip on the station: in fact, it seems even worse than before, crawling over the fixtures like so many snakes while frost curls over the walls in a series of glittering murals. Eager to be off, I fire my Incinerate! plasmid at the freezing mess that blocks the tracks in front of the train, turning ice to water and water to steam in the blink of an eye.

"Nice one, sport!"

I look around for a face to put to the words, but Sinclair still hasn't emerged from wherever he's lurking. Shrugging, I head to the train- if he wants to stay behind, that's his concern, not mine.

"You'll need to open the tunnel first, sport. Then I'll get on."

His voice sounds reproachful, which I think is a bit rich coming from a man whose pursuit of wealth seems only to have stopped at simply holding people upside down and shaking them until their money fell out of their pockets. Still, I about-face and head into the security booth, where I'm confronted with an array of buttons and dials that makes my head swim with its complexity. Whoever worked here back in the day obviously knew what everything was on sight, because nothing's labelled. I give a grunt of frustration, and decide to simply yank the most eye-catching lever I can see- an idea which my common sense condemns as "horrible" a second after I put it into action. Luckily, the bright red lever seems to be the one I was looking for, as a few seconds later the tunnel opens up.

It's at this point a figure clambers up the steps in front of the booth and draws close to the window, in clothes more suited to a suave man-about-town than a survivor of a water-logged apocalypse, his eyes squinting past the shadows. I assume it must be Sinclair from the fact that he's not running at me with a wrench, although the calculating edge to his gaze rings all kinds of alarm bells for me. It's the same sort of look I used to get from the lab techs back at Fontaine Futuristics, and believe me, nothing that happened after receiving one of those was good**.

"You know, when I give a man my word, I like to look him in the eye."

I hold back a snort. Good luck with that, pal- I know that my own eyes are concealed by about an inch of thick neon goo.

Sinclair seems to realise the irony in his statement, because his eyes crinkle with humour at the corners. He takes a drag of the cigarette he holds in his right hand (he even has a cigarette holder, good grief), and gives me a slow wink.

"You can laugh, kid, but take it from me- together, we're gonna go far."

He lopes off towards the train carriage, looking as gosh darn nonchalant as if he were taking a Sunday stroll in the park, rather than escaping from a flooded wreck haunted by mutated monstrosities***. I'm about to follow, when Lamb's voice comes through my radio. It would be sneering, if sneering didn't require the ability to have emotions.

"Interesting. I thought you were Sinclair's minion: a shell of a man, following his orders because you had no will of your own. But someone has given you that freedom, haven't they? I wonder who. Who has enough cruelty to force a mirror onto a mask, when there's no face to see beneath it?"

She signs off, and I scowl behind my faceplate as I got to the door. At least I occasionally feel something, lady. I'm taking it you had your own ability to feel removed for fear of catching some genuine compassion for your fellow humans.

A muffled thumping from the other side startles me out of my thoughts, and I glance out the window to see a female splicer, her half-melted face pulled into an approximation of a smirk as she hammers on the window. There are more behind her, I realise, with a knot of tension forming in my throat, too many to have turned up together by coincidence. Someone planned an ambush, and I think I know who.

"Lamb was waiting for us, chief!"

As one splicer manages to get his crowbar underneath the booth door and starts to pry the thing up, I think bitterly that Sinclair, despite the smooth accent, sometimes states the obvious just as much as Tenenbaum.

 **Footnotes:**

* Why was there ice when the rest of the room was fairly warm? I have no idea. Maybe the splicer decided he needed a safe place to keep his supplies only a few minutes ago, or maybe the laws of physics abandoned this place in despair when people starting shooting lightning out of their fingertips. It would make about as much sense as anything else I've seen recently.

**Apart from meeting the kid, of course. The hug she gave me after they took the restraints off was worth pretty much everything that came before it, even if the bond I felt with her was engineered by chemicals.

***Though not that park with the crazy cultists in it- people tend to move a bit more rapidly there, I've observed.

 **Author's note:**

 **Sorry about the wait, folks. This week's been really busy, and finding the time to edit this chapter has not been easy. Still, I hope you enjoy it. Many thanks to those who favourited and/or followed. I'd be very grateful to anyone who cared to follow their lead, as well as to anyone who leaves suggestions or feedback.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	15. Chapter 15

Sinclair's still talking as I charge out of the door, swerving to avoid a blow from one of the splicers. He's telling me to shoot them where they stand, but unfortunately I didn't bother to take the drill off after that fight with the Big Sister, and so I'm forced to get up close and personal to the monsters before I can finish them off.

The first is a woman- or was a woman once, before her excessive ADAM consumption twisted her into the monster that stands before me. She's clutching a golf club in her skinny claws, and swings it wildly at me as I rush towards her. It would be fairly easy to take her out in other circumstances, but two of her colleagues fling themselves into the fray as soon as I reach her, and I'm not able to dodge all their blows. My supply tanks spend a lot of time being used as percussion instruments before I'm able to move on.

Once I'm certain no one's getting up in a hurry, I make a break for the train, hoping against hope that no one will try anything else. Unfortunately (but predictably), someone by the "Departures" board starts shooting at me, and I have to deal with them before they hit anything vital. It's another female, wearing the ragged remains of a housecoat and an expression of pure unadulterated fury. With a sigh, I rev up the drill and charge her, bringing the whirling point up to her stomach. A (messy) second later and I turn around again, to face an abomination dressed in medical whites. He's treated to a few simple thumps on the head, because though it takes longer it doesn't make me look as though I've been trying to shove a ketchup-smothered burger through my faceplate*.

The next two that emerge from the amusement park, a man and a woman, have firearms, which means running at them with the drill is going to get me riddled with bullets unless I do something to stop them attacking first. I retreat behind a pillar and concentrate briefly, until the flames that spout from my left glove die away and crackling lightning emerges from the ashes. Ducking out from my hiding spot, I fling a blast at one of the pair, and am rewarded with a pained yelp as it hits home. I'm disappointed to find that her fellow's sense of altruism deserted him at about the same point as his sanity did, as he ignores his friend's spasming and twitching in favour of shooting bullet after bullet at the pillar I'm sheltering behind. Still, there's now only one person firing on me, and I can deal with that. I emerge from my hiding place and crash over to the couple, using my drill to shield myself from any shots that come my way. The woman is just coming to when I reach her, and so I'm forced to grapple with her skinny arms for a few moments before I can put her out of her misery.

Drill still whirring, I turn to see her friend bolting towards me with a length of lead piping. I bring my weapon up just in time and catch his pipe as he swings it towards me. We stand frozen for a moment, weapons locked, before a bullet ricochets off one of my tanks and I realise that there's one more splicer lurking in a corner. I release my attacker, who gives me a nasty grin before noticing he's standing in his buddy's direct line of fire. He gives a wail and ducks out of the way just before he's perforated by a spray of bullets, spitting curses at me and his ally as he rises from a crouch. In lieu of replying to his stream of profanity, I smash him with the drill, sending him flying into the wall with a satisfying _thud_. I wait for a moment to check he's not going to return to the fight, before launching myself at the last splicer, ducking behind the walls of the archway while he shoots. Up close, it's evident why he opted to use firearms- he's so skeletal a gentle shove would send him down for keeps. Despite his weakness, however, he gamely struggles on, sending shot after shot my way as I advance. Finally, I get close enough to grab his gun arm and wrestle the thing out of his grip, tossing it out of the way**. Part of me, the same part that protested against harvesting that Sister, twists unsettlingly at the idea of killing this pitiful creature, whose frailty I now realise is caused by a combination of starvation and ADAM mutations the like of which rival those of the Big Daddies in scale. Despite my misgivings, however, I grit my teeth and finish the thing with a few hits from the drill. There's no saving these lost souls- the degree of ADAM addiction varies, but once you're hooked, you're hooked, and you've no choice but to keep pumping the stuff into your veins if you want to see another day. A clean death like this is a mercy, really- or so I tell myself when I see that mixture of anger and terror that still haunts the man's glassy eyes.

I don't stop to loot the corpses this time- I just want to be out of here. I trudge over to the train and start the thing up. Pneumatics hiss and machinery shrieks as the engines come to life, and once again we're plunging into the dense blackness of the tunnels.  
Really, the things aren't trains at all, I reflect, as the windows creak in protest against the filthy water that fills the train network. They share some aesthetic features with them and both run on tracks, but the "trains" of Rapture are more like submarines. They operate underwater, and therefore can't use steam as a power supply: it would burn off our precious tanks-full of oxygen. I'm not sure what they use instead to power the propellors, but since it involves Rapture's own special brand of science I'm not sure I want to know. Probably runs on the lifeblood of the innocent or something.  
Sinclair doesn't show his face during the journey, which makes me wonder whether he's really as comfortable as he appears around a prototype Big Daddy. He has good reason not to be, given our trek record. Coupled with the fact that I've been separated from my charge for so long, I'm surprised he's even willing to risk travelling with me, but I suppose when you're stuck in a flooded tomb with only mutated abominations for company, your options are pretty limited.

As it is, the next I hear of him is a few hours later, when the gateway of the station we're passing through slams shut and I have to wrench on the brakes before we crash into the thick metal wall that now towers before us. As I glare at the exit as if I could force it open with the sheer fury in my gaze, the speakers on the walls crackle to life, and Lamb's voice resounds through the hall.  
"Attention, citizens. As of now, Subject Delta is trapped in Pauper's Drop, and all rail travel is suspended until he is dealt with."  
I give a growl of frustration, and wish fervently that there was something I could smash in here to relieve my feelings without causing our mode of transport to malfunction. I've only known this woman for about a day now, not counting our brief but disastrous meeting before my death, and already she's managed to make my life even more of a misery than it already was. What it was like for Eleanor, having to deal with her shenanigans for ten years, is something I don't even want to think about.

I get out of the train, and promptly slip on a pool of water just outside the car. Gosh darn it, but this station is damp, and that's coming from a man who's spent all his life in Rapture. The walls ripple with the liquid dripping from a plethora of leaks, and, from the amount of plant life that's flourishing, look to have been doing so for some time: there's not a thing in this room that isn't coated in flora.  
Lamb's still talking, the sound struggling out from under the thick layer of moss that smothers the speakers.  
"Remember, citizens, Subject Delta is no threat to us if we stand together. We are the Family, and he is alone."  
Ironically, it's at this moment that my radio begins to buzz, signalling that though I might stand alone, I'm less isolated than I might appear.  
"Lamb's got us cornered, kid," Sinclair reports. He sounds annoyed, and to be honest, I don't blame him. "The woman's got the whole of Rapture on lockdown. You'll need the override key to get us out of here, and to get that you'll need to find one Grace Holloway- the "Governor" of the Drop. She lives up on the top floor of the Sinclair Deluxe, my hotel- or it was, before she kicked me out of it."

He signs off, leaving me alone with my thoughts in the overgrown station. Something about the name "Grace Holloway" sounds familiar, and since my collection of memories isn't too jam-packed, it doesn't take me long to remember who she is: the singer whose husband was "vanished". No wonder she took exception to Sinclair's presence in her domain- it would be like Lamb coming up to me and suggesting we be room-mates. Well, at least she's not dead, as I guessed she would be, but seeing as Sinclair's my ally for the moment I can't imagine she'll be all that pleased to see me. Still, I can't let her stop me. Lamb isn't the only one with a family who needs protecting.

 **Footnotes:**

* You'd see a lot of stains like this when the Alpha Series was being manufactured. The conditioning process hadn't been perfected yet, and so a whole lot of Big Daddies just lost it entirely. Some starved to death just because they couldn't grasp the fact that they couldn't eat through their helmets.

** I would have kept it, but Big Daddy gloves make it impossible to operate smaller guns like this pistol- or indeed to do anything that requires more dexterity than thumping or crushing things.

 **Author's note:**

 **Sorry for the delay again, folks- I've been incredibly busy recently, and I just didn't have the time to update. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy the chapter. Many thanks to all those who favourited and followed, and as always, comments and feedback are very much appreciated.**

 **One more thing- I'm afraid next week's update will be somewhat delayed as well. Again, I'm really sorry about all this, but there's no avoiding it. My sincere apologies.**

 **Have a good Easter, folks- or if you don't celebrate Easter, just have a good week.**


	16. Chapter 16

The sight that greets me when I first step into Pauper's Drop is a strange one: a group of splicers clustered around one of the Sisters' vents, whilst one of the Sisters themselves crawls inside. As I venture closer, as soundlessly as I can manage, it becomes clear that they're bowing and kneeling to her, their scrawny backs bent over and their stick-like fingers clasped together in supplication.

It's a scene which sinks claws of contradiction into my mind, twisting and warping my thoughts. I've always known splicers to be little more than animals, animated corpses with a few quirks from their old lives still clinging to them like grave mould. But if they're able to resist that desperate craving for ADAM everyone down here shares, if they understand concepts like compassion and religion- well, they might not have been the savage creatures I thought them to be. The gaunt face of that splicer I killed back at the station flashes across my vision, and I blink it away hastily. I don't have time for these moral scruples; monsters or not, these splicers are Lamb's subjects (or so I infer from the graffiti scrawled around the vent and the glaringly white books some carry) and will lay down their lives to keep me from Eleanor. If I want her back, I'm going to have to take them down.

I take my machine gun from its holster, and wait while the Sister clambers into the vent; I don't want her to be caught in the crossfire, even if it won't kill her. After the last filthy rag of her dress disappears into the shadows, I aim my gun at the splicer in the centre. It's a woman, her arms raised to the heavens and her face illuminated by a beatific smile. However, now that the Sister and the overpowering stench of ADAM that accompanies her have gone, she's beginning to scent the tankful of the drug I carry on my back, and I know it's only a matter of time before they all find me and attack. Gritting my teeth against my doubts, I open fire.

My first volley of shots clips the side of her head, which elicits a furious scream from her and a frantic search for the culprit from everyone. They don't have far to look- I emerge from the darkness by the vault door and charge towards them, still firing. The woman goes down first, still wailing as her abdomen disintegrates under a hail of bullets. Her cries of pain distract me long enough for one of her friends to creep round my right-hand side and try to wrestle my gun from my grasp while I'm busy. It doesn't work: I throw him off to one side and smash him over the head with the barrel, and he's out like a light. I look up to see that only one opponent is left, a man with a pinstripe suit and a crowbar clutched in his hands. I swiftly administer several rounds to his chest, causing him to crumple like a playing card, and then methodically search the corpses for supplies, glancing round for the other two splicers I saw next to the vent all the while. They seem to have fled the scene, however, and I'm able to salvage a few dollars from each of the bodies in peace. My shiny new conscience twinges at each turned-out pocket, but I sternly tell myself that this is necessary if I'm going to reach Fontaine Futuristics and rescue Eleanor, and it quietens down enough to let me get the job done.

I venture warily round the corner, past a Vita Chamber and towards a narrow passageway. I'm stepping through the opening when I hear a vicious snarl, and have to retreat hastily as a flaming crate hurtles towards me, singing my left sleeve as it streaks past. I watch from a safe distance as it smashes against the wall and explodes into blazing fragments. Ouch. Seems like the residents of Pauper's Drop aren't quite as considerate towards Protectors as they are towards Gatherers- though then again, Lamb did just pronounce me fair game.

Cautiously, I peer into the room beyond the doorway, but there's no hostiles in sight. Still, I buckle on the drill attachment before going in*.

The room I find myself in is more of a street, really- it's comprised of a road** lined on either side by pavements with railings as ornate and intricate as lace. There's a building opposite the entrance, whose ancient sign in black and neon red proclaims it to be "The Fishbowl Diner". It must have been fairly popular at one time judging by its size and flamboyant décor, but now the building is as damp and dark as a crypt. The sign isn't lit, but occasionally a drift of sparks fans out from the wires which once supplied it with electricity, accompanied by a harsh snarling noise that sounds like some feral animal being tortured.

The sound is interrupted by a voice from the loudspeaker system, a woman's voice. It's hoarse and quiet, even through the microphones, but throbbing with a raw rage that's never been present in Lamb's icy tones.

"I know you, Tin Daddy."

I turn my helmet towards the nearest speaker, the glow from my faceplate flitting towards it like a dying firefly.

"You took Eleanor from me. An innocent baby girl, and you twisted her into a monster so sick and evil even death's too scared to take it. And now you've come to Pauper's Drop? Bad move, Tin Daddy. Bad move."

Her voice is mocking now, but with that undercurrent of fury still running beneath her words, along with a shuddering, uneven quality that hints that she's somewhere near the verge of tears.

"When we string you up and you're choking on your last breath, I want you to remember my name, monster. Remember Grace Holloway."

There's a hiss of static, and the message is over. I keep staring up at the speaker, trying to understand what Ms Holloway just said. She thinks _I_ turned her into a Little Sister? How would you think that? Even though my mind was fogged into oblivion at the time, I still remember the broadcasts from Ryan Industries about Little Sisters and Big Daddies, my own face reflected back at me in black and white from a dozen crackling screens. But then, I recall as I slowly turn back to the street, there was never anything about how exactly we were created, or about how the "volunteers" for the process were found. Maybe some thought the Protectors recruited the children, coaxing them away from their parents' sides like bizarre Pied Pipers. It's a disturbing thought, and I shudder as I realise that the terrified expressions on parents' faces as they pulled their sons and daughters out of my path might not have been fear of the weapon at my side.

I quickly make my way around the corner, trying to banish the memories from my mind. I come across a pile of junk lying on the road, which seems to have recently been through the wars- parts are still burning and sparking as it lies there. I venture closer, hoping I can find something useful in the wreck, and realise that there's a body lying amid the boxes and crates- a body belonging to a Rosie.

As I stare at his corpse in silence, I wonder why he was killed. The splicers here seem to revere the Little Sisters, if the group I saw was anything to go by, so why would they kill one of their Protectors? I remember the grainy pictures of myself I saw being broadcast across Rapture's television sets, and wonder whether it was a case of mistaken identity that got this Rosie killed.

I rummage his corpse, feeling slightly guilty about doing so, and advance round the corner. I see the Sinclair Deluxe's entrance ahead of me, but there's a splicer huddling over a campfire nearby, presumably guarding it against intruders. She's not terribly professional about it to say the least, complaining loudly about the cat meat in the stew*** and turning her back on her post. However, her hearing appears to more than make up for her limited vision, as the soft swish that my glove emits when I switch to the Telekinesis plasmid attracts her attention, and she begins to creep towards me, muttering about intruders. I quickly retreat, crouching under a makeshift ramp behind one of the buildings with the intention of ambushing the guard. When she fails to appear on cue I warily exit my hiding place, thinking that she's decided it was nothing and headed back to her station by the fire. That's when a bullet clips my arm, and I realise she was waiting at the top of the ramp.

I charge round to the foot of the slope, trying to use the drill to shield myself from the woman's shots. It doesn't work for the most part; she has surprisingly good aim for a splicer, and I grunt and groan as lead embeds itself in my body. I quickly take cover in the building as her deranged laughter resounds throughout the cavernous hall.

I lean against the wall of the room, wincing as the ADAM rushing through the needles in my wrists starts to take effect and the bullets in me are dislodged by rapidly regrowing flesh. It's just when the final one drops to the floor that I hear a cheerful chorus of _bleeps_ , and I spin round to see one of the security bots buzz in through the door and open fire.

Luckily, although the things have the ability to sense enemies, they don't have the same level of talent when it comes to actually hitting vital bits, so the bot spends a good length of time showering my tanks with bullets. While less than ideal- I need quite a bit of ADAM just to keep breathing, given how spliced I am- it does give me enough time to launch a piece of debris at it, which sends it spiralling downwards in a twining plethora of flames. I grumble under my breath at the dense cloud of oily smoke that spews out of the wreckage, and quickly leave the room while I can still see where the doorway is.

There's no one in the street when I trudge outside, but I can hear raised voices from above me. I make my way up the ramp, wincing at every creak from the supports as they struggle to hold my weight. After much anxious inching, I finally reach the top, and see the guard darting behind a chimney with a cry of "Good Heavens!". Striding after her, I attempt to use one of my offensive plasmids, but I've forgotten to switch out Telekinesis and so only succeed in snatching a drinks bottle from the other side of the room. I grunt in frustration and discard it, but the distraction has given the splicer the opportunity to retrieve her gun from where it was leaning against the bricks, and she's now shooting at me. I charge towards her with the drill, and run straight into the firing line of a turret that was lying unnoticed to one side. As I'm forced to retreat, I hear her raucous laughter, and give a snarl of irritation. You like uneven odds, ma'am? Fine. I can do that.

Once I'm safely behind the wall I disengage the drill's catches, and buckle on my remote hacking tool. Craning round the corner, I quickly fire a hack dart at the turret while it's reloading, before ducking back into my hiding spot. I start hacking, growling under my breath every time my fingers fumble the tiny controls, until finally there's a satisfying little _click_ and a scream from the splicer as her turret turns on her.

Her death cries are layered with another type of cry, the eerie whalesong that's the hallmark of Suchong's Protectors. I peer over the side of the roof to see one of the Rosies trudging along the road, his Sister skipping round him in wide not-quite-circles. As they advance steadily down the street, I remember Tenenbaum's plasmid and her request to send any Little Sisters I found to her. At the time, I assumed she meant any Sisters I found whose Big Daddies had been killed, but I'm pretty sure now that she was talking about _any_ I found, with a Protector or otherwise. Trouble is, I'm not really sure I like the idea slaughtering some poor guy who only wants to protect his daughter; it all sounds a bit too similar to my current situation. In addition, I don't really need the ADAM a Sister could supply me with- there's not even a Gatherer's Garden around here I could use to purchase a new plasmid.

But- I'm the one hope any of these kids have of reuniting with their parents. I may not need the ADAM particularly now, but these girls need to get back home just as much as that first Sister did, and since I'm the only one who can help them, I'm going to have to be the one to do it.

With a sigh, I shoulder my rivet gun, loaded with heavy rivets in the vague hope that they'll more more successful in piercing that heavy metal shell. The pair are only halfway down the street by now, hindered by the Rosie's ponderous gait and the girl's frequent tugging on his glove to explain things like how "the aminal birthday had no kids allowed". With a heavy heart, I aim the barrel at the Protector's head, and pull the trigger.

 **Footnotes:**

* Some might say that I'd be better off with one of my long-range weapons at my side, but I've never used guns up until now, and their weight fails to reassure me as the heft of the drill does.

** Though is there really any need for pavements in a place where the only four-wheeled vehicles are push-along carts?

*** I've never tasted cat, but given the fact that I've seen people eat human flesh down here out of desperation it strikes me that she's being a trifle fussy.

 **Author's note:**

 **Finally, the next update! Sorry it took so long. On the plus side, I did have the time to draw a cover image. I didn't have a reference image, so Delta's armour is probably horribly inaccurate, but at least it's done and doesn't look utterly horrible- though it does look kind of like his ears are being constantly splashed with ADAM and EVE. Maybe that's why he's so snarky and easily irritated.**


	17. Chapter 17

"Daddy!"

I look up from the Rosie's shattered helmet to see his Little Sister hunched over at his feet, sobbing heartbrokenly. I shudder, feeling my insides twist into guilty knots. Ten years ago, I was in that Rosie's position, and now I'm standing in Lamb's shoes. Still, I trudge over to her, drill still dripping with the luminescent gunge that once filled the Rosie's faceplate.

As soon as she hears my heavy footsteps, the girl looks up, and gasps with delight.

"Daddy? But- I thought you was sleeping forever…"

I give a reassuring grumble, and, after making sure the last of the flames have died away from the port, hold out my left hand to her. She smiles happily, and clasps a gargantuan finger in her tiny fist.

"Good morning!"

I wince at the tableau we form: the Rosie's corpse lying forgotten in the background, while she embraces his murderer. Good grief, Rapture is messed up. Still, I push my sickened finer feelings out of my mind, telling myself that this is necessary, if I'm going to return this little girl to her real parents.

I carefully twist my finger out of the girl's iron grip and unbuckle the drill attachment, shaking my helmet as vigorously as I can when she asks worriedly if I'm leaving her. The drill free of glowing sludge and safely in its holster, I pick the Sister up and rest her on my shoulders, making sure she's got a good grip on my armour before I let her go.

"Now I'm _enormous_ like you, Daddy- right?"

I give a growling chuckle, and hold out a thumbs-up. Sure you are, kid. Sure you are.

We set off in the direction of the Sinclair Deluxe, taking a route that skirts around the other Rosie's corpse- these kids may see a whole bunch of nasty things, but I'd rather not let her see anything more horrible than she absolutely has to.

"Step away!"

Speaking of nasty things, a splicer's just dived round the corner and is shooting at me- or so I think at first. As another bullet grazes my right shoulder, I realise with shock and anger that he's actually trying to shoot the girl off her perch so he can grab her and make a quick getaway. She gives a terrified scream as he takes aim and fires again, the bullet missing her leg by a bare inch.

"She's mine, ya freak!"

My left hand clenches involuntarily with fury at this thing, this _monster_ who calls me a freak and yet tries to murder an infant to sate its own greed, and I let out a snarling roar. I unclench my fingers as they start to flicker with the hot yellow light of Incinerate!, and let loose a torrent of flame on the creature.

It yelps, and tries to dodge the fire like the scurrying coward it is, but fails miserably and collapses in a burning heap. The girl on my shoulder giggles. "How about a bit of scareycrow, Mr Fire?" She says teasingly, seemingly unfazed by the animal's tortured screams. I myself couldn't care less: that thing's got no humanity left in it to pity.

I make my way over to what's left of the splicer, and watch it struggle for a moment. Part of me wants to leave it here to suffer, spending the miserable remnants of its life coughing and screeching down here in the muck, but there's another part of me that's repelled by the idea. The thing might be something less than human, but so am I if I just leave it here to suffer for my own satisfaction. Some might think me a monster, but I'll never prove them wrong if I just keep indulging my inner sadist.

I lift my boot high in the air and bring it down on the creature's skull, killing it instantly. There's still a little voice at the back of my mind telling me I could have saved it if I used my supply of ADAM, but I smother it. I might not be a monster, sure, but I'm no saint. The splicer tried to hurt a Sister, and that's an unforgivable deed in my eyes. The fact that he tried to go behind my back in doing so to save himself the legwork is just the icing on the cake.

I turn back to the Sinclair Deluxe, rage still twisting in my stomach, but a rap on the helmet halts me in my tracks.

"Silly Daddy!" The Sister laughs. "ADAM isn't that way!"

In all the rush, first in dispatching the Rosie and then in taking care of that splicer, I'd forgotten that the girl on my shoulders isn't just some damsel in distress I'm saving, but an ally that wants to help me. I turn my back on the hotel, and wave my hand around the place in lieu of asking "Where to now?". Thankfully, the Sister seems pretty adept at interpreting my own personal sign language, and points at an alleyway off to the right. "Don't worry, Daddy," she says, patting my helmet reassuringly. "I'll help you with angels- I'm a good girl!"

I stick a thumb up in agreement, amused at her cheerful self-advertisement, and tramp off down the alley. We negotiate several more, along with crossroads, boulevards, and other sundries, until we find the "angel" she's been searching for. She wants to get down to business immediately, but I signal her to stay put while I scan around for oil slicks, puddles of water, and any openings I can line with trap rivets. Unfortunately, the corpse is lying right on a street corner, which means that I can't line any likely ingresses with my traps. There's a disappointing lack of oil, too, and the only water I can see is the layer of dampness that covers everything in the Drop. It seems like I might be flung on my own resources in this fight.

With a regretful sigh, I set the little girl down on the corpse and start clamping my drill on while she begins. As she does so, a speaker located right above our heads blasts into life, and Ms Holloway's voice rings through the street.

"Family, the Tin Daddy has taken another of our daughters to feed his hunger for ADAM. There's nothing in that suit but that hunger, no heart, no love, just greed. He won't let our baby go unless you take her back!"

Her words die away just as the first splicers begin to pour in from the buildings, a trickle that starts to grow as Lamb's ersatz children begin to respond to their Aunt Grace's words. I regard them grimly- I can't exactly say I don't understand Ms Holloway's motivation in seeking revenge on someone who she thinks took her child from her, but I'm fairly certain that at least some of these creatures are only helping out to sate their own hunger for the drug.

The first one to charge is a woman, a housewifely type in a primrose-yellow dress that was probably a whole lot more flattering before it got covered in gore. It gets a bit more on it when I hit her over the head while she's still jittering from the electricity I flung at her. She fairly frail for a splicer, and she falls to the ground like a crumpled pile of washing.

The next to approach is somewhat more beefy, a chap in a flatcap who limps along at a breakneck pace. A swing from my drill only knocks him back for a moment before he picks himself up and keeps on coming. Grumbling under my breath, I give him a shock with the Electrobolt and then thump him, which sends him down for keeps. I give a satisfied grimace as I turn to find the next attacker- the "one-two punch", as I've heard it called, never fails.

The next attacker turns out to be attackers, actually- a pair of men who seem to have clung to some notion of teamwork when their other characteristics were flooded out by the genetic wonderdrug. One forces my plasmid hand away from them both, while the other grapples with my drill's fastenings to find a way to disable it. A good strategy, except for the fact they've forgotten about my legs. I swiftly lower an iron-shod boot onto the impromptu mechanic's toe before he can do any serious damage, which causes him to leap about a foot in the air and saw a word I really hope the kid didn't hear. His friend, shocked by his comrade's distress, loosens his grip on my plasmid hand, which gives me the opportunity to discharge the electrical equivalent of a bolt of lightning right into his face. He flies right to the other side of the street where he lies against the wall, still twitching a little. His friend is quickly finished off with some judicious application of the drill spin, and I free myself to tackle the oncoming gaggle of splicers only slightly less quickly.

The fact that those two took longer to deal with than the previous two splicers I tackled has unfortunately left the kid open to attack, and as I turn from the mess that was my last opponent I see that she's been forced to drop everything in favour of defending herself against a leering male as best she can with her needle. I charge towards her persecutor, feeling hot rage building up in my stomach, and impale him with the drill, spinning him round and then throwing him into a wall for good measure*. I turn back to check the kid's okay, and she gives me a smile and a thumbs-up. I heave a sigh of relief, and return the gesture before we both turn back to our work.

The splicers are coming more quickly, now, but for all Lamb's talk of standing together, none of them seem to understand that two allies are better than two aggressors working independently. I mow them down one by one, zapping and whacking them in quick succession. Some possess more skill in combat than others, unfortunately, which results in a close shave with one of the women. She's another of those ones with the incredibly posh English accents, but has an unladylike talent for fighting dirty. She ducks and weaves and dodges, until I'm giddy with trying to track her movements, and then kicks me squarely in the groin. It probably hurts her more than me, actually- I've no idea what's down there, but it's under a thick layer of armour like the rest of my person- but it distracts me enough to allow her to slip past me and make a grab for the girl. I give an angry bellow, and charge after her. She's got the kid around the waist, ignoring her thrashing and screaming, and is now trying to make a break for it. Thankfully, her movements are hampered enough by the Sister's struggling that I manage to catch up with them and plunge the drill into the woman's back, spinning it until her arms finally loosen and the girl kicks herself free. She dashes back to the corpse, pausing only to give me a wave to let me know she's alright. I speedily free the drill and hasten across to another splicer attempting to snatch the Sister away.

Finally, the girl's finished. While she takes a swig from her bottle, I deal with the last of the splicers- a gent in what must have once been a snazzy tuxedo, now torn and begrimed beyond repair. He's armed with two broken bottles, which he swings at me under the laughable delusion that he can actually cut through the suit's fabric with such a flimsy weapon. I swat him with the drill, which sends him sprawling into the road with a surprised wail. He struggles to pick himself up from the ground before I reach him and knock him out with another blow to the head.

The girl's waiting impatiently when I get back, tapping her foot and folding her arms sulkily. She drops the act when I hold out my arms, however, eagerly rushing forward to be picked up and given a ride on my back. I check she's alright before I put her up there, though- the Sisters may heal fast, but I still worry about them getting badly hurt in all this fighting. She giggles at my concern, telling me that "I'm fine, silly!", and I should take more care of myself. She does get a bit anxious when she sees the tear in my arm from when I let a splicer get a bit too close, but she brightens again when her eyes fall on her needle.

"I'll fix you, Daddy, don't worry!"

I debate letting her do so. On one hand, I'll have less ADAM for plasmids and suchlike, but on the other I won't be going around with a massive hole in my forearm**. I give a cautious nod, which elicits a "Yay!" From the Sister. She swiftly crawls up onto my shoulders and starts busily unscrewing the cap on my ADAM tank, while I straighten up and start looking around for our next destination.

We make our way down a flight of steps I hadn't noticed before, which were probably not designed to be used by the public, given their narrow width and twisting structure***. There again, Pauper's Drop is so poor that this winding staircase could easily serve as a front entrance without seeming that out of place.

The "angel" is female, sprawled in the centre of the basement room with her skirts flapping around her like the wings of a real celestial veing. The expression on her face is anything but heavenly, however, a bestial snarl that exposes her discoloured teeth and blackened gums. The Sister seems unperturbed, though, and hums to herself dreamily as I line the foot of the steps with a thick layer of trap rivets and scout around for anything I can use during the fight. This room is going to be a whole lot easier to defend than that street corner was, I realise happily: the fact that it's underground means that a whole lot of water has accumulated on its floor, so if several splicers arrive at once I can shock them into oblivion. There's also an oil slick, near a- hmm. I narrow my eyes, and venture closer.

As I draw near, I realise that I was correct in my initial surmise, and I'm looking at a shrine, or what constitutes a shrine in Rapture: bare grey stone, garlanded with wilted flowers and a name, "Prentice Mill", scratched across it in charcoal. As I read the smeared letters, my abused memory suddenly flares into life, and I remember from listening to an audio diary that he's the one who built the trains I've been using- the man whose business was swiftly being overtaken by the bathysphere industry. I notice another audio diary lying on a shelf in the middle of the floral arrangement, almost undetectable due to the number of blooms that cover it. Curious as to what became of Mill****, I pick it up and hit the "play" button.

I listen to what follows with sinking spirits. Predictably, Mill's business never picked up, and soon enough Ryan was demanding he give up what little money he had managed to save to fund his competitors' bathysphere construction. Despairing, Mill had declared that he had no one, that his whole life was the trains, and since the trains were dying- well, he'd join them. The tape ends, and I'm left staring at the shrine, thinking that the man must have had someone who at least wanted to remember him- someone who'd been left alone after he'd followed his railway.

I think of that night ten years ago when I'd left Eleanor alone, with no one but that creature whose motherly traits begin and end with the biological aspect. Ten years of isolation, and she's still putting her life on the line to help me. Well, kid, give me a bit of time, and I'll reach you- and I'd like to see anyone try to part us then.

 **Footnotes:**

* Whilst wrestling with the spinning mechanism when I was fighting the pair of splicers earlier, I found I could reverse its rotation by twisting the handle inside the drill. It's a handy mechanic, and one I _really_ could have done with knowing about years earlier (thank you, Fontaine Futuristics), but better late than never, I suppose.

** The hole in my suit doesn't worry me unduly- most of the first aid kits I've been picking up include some nifty patches someone cooked up in Ryan Industries. Just slap one on a rip in your suit, and it'll seal the hole for you. They supply a few in each kit, so I've several to spare- I don't know why they put so many patches and so little ADAM in each kit, but there again, we are talking about people who thought it would be a good idea to start ripping up their genes for the rag bag while they were still wearing them.

*** Argh. If the lady from the fight really wanted to inflict pain on me, she should have just shoved me down these steps and made me try and clamber back up.

**** Other than the obvious, given I'm looking at a shrine and all.


	18. Chapter 18

"Darn higher-ups…"  
I nod in agreement with the voice from ages past as I rummage through the goods on sale at a Circus of Values machine. Darn higher-ups indeed. If they're not trying to outright kill you, they're turning you into a genetic freak of nature.  
The voice (Tobias Reifers, according to the label on the player) doesn't seem to agree with me on that score, though- he's more annoyed with the fact that they decided it was a good idea to keep several gold mines' worth of ADAM at the clinic he works at and didn't expect any repercussions, especially in the form of crazed splicers chewing on the walls. Now, it's fallen to him to think up a new key code to keep the ravening horde at bay, and he's none too happy about it. He signs off with the intention of heading over to the Fishbowl Diner to brood over his misfortunes.

Speaking of work, I really need to get down to business in harvesting this ADAM. The kid on my back is getting very impatient with my scavenging, kicking the tanks and twisting any dials she can lay her hands on*, but I haven't quite finished yet. I was almost put down for keeps during our last harvesting session, and I want a bit of time to breathe before flinging myself into that kind of pandemonium again.  
I trek back up the stairs, edging awkwardly around the puddles of water that have accumulated on them, and scout around for any rooms that I haven't investigated. My thoroughness is rewarded by the discovery of a small office in the Fishbowl Diner, which I hadn't noticed before in all the excitement. It doesn't have much in the way of supplies, but I take what I can find- including an audio diary recorded by Doctor Lamb.

It's another debate between her and Moustache Man, with her again seemingly winning. I grind my teeth at her words, the smug tone to her voice that implies that _she's right, you're wrong, and the sooner you acknowledge that, you sad little failure, the better it will be for everyone_. I'm not a devotee of Moustache Man's beliefs- if it hadn't been for him and his policies, Eleanor wouldn't have a goshdarn sea creature crawling around her stomach and I wouldn't even be here- but the beatific ring to Lamb's voice makes me want to go and punch her right in her horn-rimmed spectacles.

I head out of the office and scavenge my way across the street, looting corpses and picking up any useful items I find lying around. The Little Sister is somewhat disgusted by the liquid that erupts from the cans whenever I drill into them to get at their contents, retreating behind my helmet with a horrified "Eew!", but it at least stops her playing around with the tanks' workings, so I don't complain.  
The area cleared, I head back down into the basement, mentally cursing as I negotiate that thrice-accursed spiral staircase. When I finally get to the bottom, I step over the line of trap rivets I placed here and set the little girl down on the "angel", pretending not to hear her whispered "About time, Daddy…". Living with only silent behemoths and foul-mouthed splicers for company hasn't done anything for these girls' manners, and I amuse myself for the few short moments before the attackers arrive with the thought of Tenenbaum trying to teach them the finer points of etiquette. It may be a slightly ridiculous form of amusement, but you have to take what you can get in Rapture.

One frenzied battle later, and I'm picking up the girl again after she's drunk her fill of ADAM. She's tired now, sprawling across my shoulders and murmuring about the House of Upside-Down, so I'm free to take my time whilst looting the bodies. Just one more to go now, a woman with a short spangled dress and a perm so wild and knotted it caught on part of the staircase when I threw her across the room, suspending her a few feet above the ground. I empty out the last of the pockets on the tool belt she wears-  
"Eleanor lives in the House with her Mommy…"  
Wait, what?

I look up from my foraging so sharply that the girl's almost thrown off my back, yelling shrilly as her perch jerks underneath her. I give an apologetic groan, then look at her in what I hope is an inquisitive manner. I've been to Fontaine Futuristics enough times in my past to know that you couldn't really refer to the building as "upside-down"- was the girl's song just another of those nonsensical rhymes that the Sisters are so fond of, or is Fontaine Futuristics not actually where we need to head after all? This warrants further investigation.  
The Sister merely tilts her head at me, her mouth bent in a puzzled frown. I give a hoarse sigh, then try and form a house shape with my hands, hoping that she'll catch on. I'm more successful this time: the girl gives a startled "Oh!" And nods excitedly. However, as I look at her for an explanation, her face crumples with disappointment. "Sorry, Daddy," she says sadly. "It's a secret."  
Oh, come on, kid. Don't be like that. I clasp my hands together in a pleading gesture, heedless of the creaking of my gloves' leather as I fight against their stiffness. The girl looks sorrowfully at them, but shakes her head.  
"I can't tell you, Daddy," she says, covering my hands with her own tiny fingers. "We're not allowed to."  
I give an irritated growl as frustration starts to build up in me, grating in my throat. I _need_ to know what she's talking about, otherwise this could all just be a wild goose chase. The idea of hiking all the way across town, dealing with Lamb's Family as they fling themselves into my path with cheerful abandon, and then not finding Eleanor, is not a pleasant one. Gosh darn it, I need to know where my daughter is!

"Daddy?"  
I look up to see her peering at me worriedly. As I turn my helmet, she gives a breathy gasp, and ducks slightly behind my tanks.  
"Sorry, Daddy. I didn't mean to make you cross. I'm a good girl, honest!"

I suddenly feel like the biggest heel in the universe. Sure, I need to save Eleanor, but that's no reason to scare little girls for no reason other than that they're all in the thrall of Lamb. I give a soft moan of apology, which makes the Sister straighten up slightly from her seat and give a nervous smile.  
"That's alright, Daddy. I'm sorry I upset you."  
Feeling that the kid's not really the one who needs to apologise but also knowing that we could keep on offering our sincere regrets to each other forever unless I put a stop to it, I give the kid a thumbs-up, and head towards the star-shaped vent I can see in a wall round the corner. A few moments later, and the girl's carolling her thanks in a voice free of ADAM distortion** and clambering into the vent.

With a rueful smile beneath my mask, I turn to the stairs, still wishing there was something I could do to make up for scaring her. It's then that I see one of the Big Daddy dolls that the Sisters make lying in a corner, probably discarded by his previous owner during a splicer attack, judging by the screwdriver thrust into his head. Signalling the girl to stay put, I tramp over to it and grasp it with my gargantuan fingers. It's a little slippery from lying in a puddle, its leather exterior slimed to such an extent that I drop it three times, but eventually I manage to cup it in the palm of my hand and deposit it in the lap of the former Sister, who's been sitting patiently by the vent. She blinks at it owlishly for a moment, making me wonder if my offering is too damp to be considered an acceptable gift, before looking up and asking me wonderingly if it's for her. Once I give an affirmative rumble she gives a gasp of delight and hugs the thing to her body, heedless of the excessive quantities of sludge dripping onto her frock.  
"Thank you, Daddy!"  
She darts forward and gives me a quick hug before scampering back to the vents, and I'm left with a warm feeling in my chest as I inch my way up the stairs. True, I still don't think she should have forgiven me nearly as easily as she did, but heck, if she's happy, I'm happy.

Back on street level, I locate a Gatherer's Garden and spend a happy few minutes chopping and changing my active gene tonics. Well, "happy"'s stretching it a bit- I'm still in Rapture, after all, and staying in one place for a while down here while carrying ADAM is a sure-fire way to attract splicers. There again, I did clear out this area before, so I suppose most of my paranoia is unfounded, but better safe than sorry. I'm using more upgrades for my drill than for anything else, but I just feel most comfortable with melee weapons- probably to do with them being the only weapons I really have experience with. Ah well, leave headshots to those who can actually get the head every time, I suppose.

I trek back to the Sinclair Deluxe, rummaging through the piles of debris scattered around the place in hopes of finding more supplies. I do find a few useful items, but the thing this alleyway has the most of is faded posters advertising Lamb's services. She's apparently the woman to go to if you're "Low on pep", whatever that means- maybe it refers to the pep bars I've been finding scattered around the place. The idea of Lamb running a food shop is an amusing one, but the thought of the customer service you'd receive there is kind of terrifying, so I don't dwell on it too long.

Rounding the bend***, I find myself on the main street again, and after a few more minutes of scavenging I discover a doorway at the bottom of a set of steps. The smart illuminated sign over the door is obscured by a piece of cardboard with the name "Skid Row" scrawled across it in messy, smudged letters, so only the "P" remains of its original message. I cautiously make my way down and through the vault door, and find myself in one of the glass-walled tunnels that feature so much in Rapture's architecture. They've always had an impressive quality about them, with so much ocean being stopped by so little of man's handiwork, but this one's majesty is undermined by the rubble and other junk that lines its floor, as well as the scrappy wooden signs pointing to the aforementioned Skid Row and the Sinclair Deluxe.

I follow the direction indicated on the latter, and arrive in a dark, grubby corridor, lit only by bare lightbulbs and an open brazier. Despite the look of the place suggesting that it hasn't been touched for centuries, the walls are covered with the same posters I saw in the alley, just in case someone happens to walk on by who needs psychiatry. They're accompanied by a few advertising the singing talents of Ms Holloway. The picture below the advertising slogan looks like it was probably taken after her husband disappeared: there's something in her expression that hints that she hasn't known happiness for quite some time. Her eyes gaze up the stairwell to another of Lamb's posters, this one a giant picture of the woman's eyes, with a look in them that I'd associate more with extreme disgust than compassion and understanding.

I leave the two pictures to their staring match, and continue up the steps- only to find the entrance to the hotel blocked by a mattress and a layer of boards that have been nailed across it. I give a snarl of fury, and think a long stream of profanity at the blockage in lieu of actual swearing. It doesn't really relieve my frustrations, so I make some of my hopefully-profane hand gestures at it instead. I'm midway through my extensive collection when I suddenly remember that Eleanor has somehow been talking to me via- telepathy, maybe? Anyway, I hope that she didn't choose now to get in touch, or she's just learnt an awful lot of new sign language which I'd rather she didn't use.

 **Footnotes:**

* And trust me, when the substance those dials dish out has effects as devastating as ADAM, that's bad, bad news.

** I've never been sure why the Sisters' voices sound so strange and warped. Maybe the tidal waves of ADAM coursing through their organs at all times affect their speech, or maybe the slugs they share their bodies with sing along with them whenever they talk. Given the disturbing nature of most of the science done down here, it's probably best not to ask.

*** Across which is plastered a poster reading "What do you see ahead of you?". I think my faith in humanity would have been dramatically strengthened if someone had written "This poster" across it, but sadly no one has.

 **Author's note:**

 **Well, here it finally is! I'm sorry this chapter took so long to arrive. My holidays finished last week, and I've had a lot of stuff to do since then, so I haven't really had time for writing. As always, feedback is very much appreciated- I'm still a little unsure if certain parts of this chapter work, so some comments would be great.**


	19. Chapter 19

I'm clambering up the steps to the main street again, still grumbling at my misfortune, when I hear the eerie siren call of a Big Daddy. The thought that I might have to go through the whole rigmarole of rescuing and defending a Little Sister again so soon after the last one makes me groan inwardly, but since I'm not Lamb and see a child's livelihood as more important than my own comfort*, I strap on my drill attachment and ready myself for another confrontation.  
Despite my preparations, however, it seems like no fight will be forthcoming: the Big Daddy isn't accompanied by a Little Sister, and so attacking him would be just as productive as throwing my ammunition into the pneumo system, if a lot more dangerous. Instead, I resolve to come back once he's collected his charge from the vent and walk on by, feeling somewhat guilty about the fact that the poor guy is just letting me stroll past him with no idea that I'll be coming back to murder him later.  
I see the entrance to the Fishbowl Diner, and remember that the man who recorded that audio diary- Tobias, wasn't it?- had said he would come here to drown his woes and try and come up for a new passcode for the Fontaine Clinics building. Maybe I can find some clue as to what it was in here- I'd rather like to see if the vast reserves of ADAM he talked about are still there for the taking.

I make my way inside, snatching any supplies I can see off the tables and glancing around for any splicers lying in wait. The interior of the diner has definitely seen better days- or if it hasn't, then the owner really should have invested in some redecoration. The plastic furniture is in pretty good shape surprisingly, but the floor's covered with debris, the linoleum tiles have rotted into obscurity in some patches, and there's an emaciated corpse in the corner, clutching an EVE hypo in one hand and a shotgun in the other. I spot some digits scribbled next to him, with the title "CLINIC", and realise with a jolt that this is probably Tobias. On top of his other misfortunes, it seems the man went to the Fishbowl at just the right time to be caught in one of the brawls that appear to have been depressingly common in the city during its later years**. I give a sigh of regret, but still bend down to pick up his supplies, telling myself that this is no different to taking items from the splicers' corpses. I take the EVE hypo and the old newspaper the code is scrawled on, and reach down for the shotgun. That's when the diner is plunged into darkness, and I'm left clutching the firearm with the uneasy feeling that I may have just walked into a trap. Unfortunately, this is round about the time the first pangs of wooziness from two bottles of beer I downed while scavenging start to kick in, and the disorientation combined with the sudden blackout leaves me fumbling for the location of the walls, never mind trying to locate where any attackers might pop up.

As it turns out, I needn't have worried too much about being jumped- the first splicer crashes right through the diner's ceiling, emerging from the torrent of splintered wood and crumbling plaster like lightning from a thunderstorm. He's only clutching a length of pipe and I should have taken care of him fairly easily with the shotgun, but my vision's blurring and doubling all over the place from the alcohol, and I'm still trying to guess which of the four splicers I'm seeing is the one to aim at when he lunges and almost dislodges my drill's fuel tank. Luckily, his aim is almost as bad as mine is at the moment, and he only manages to clip the thing, but he's busted one of its joints, and a steady dribble of oil is trekking down my sleeve. I'm going to have to clean that off before I use Incinerate! again, I think, as I give up on firing my weapon entirely and instead simply use it to smash his head in. Meanwhile, I'll just have to hope that none of the splicers have enough ADAM to use that particular plasmid.

My next opponent's already looming up behind his comrade's crumpling corpse, the barrel of his gun flashing through the dizzying haze my vision has become. I groan as a shot scores a red-hot line along my torso, and lumber forwards into the fog, swiping the shotgun from side to side in a desperate bid to dispatch him before he causes any more damage. My system burns through the last of the alcohol just as I deliver the fatal blow***, and the mist draws back to reveal the man toppling towards me, his face twisted in a brutal snarl. I step smartly to one side, and he collapses in the pile of sodden splinters left by his friend's dramatic entrance. I don't have time to check him for items though, as two females have just entered the diner, squealing abuse and shooting pistols with such inaccuracy I might be reduced to tears if they weren't trying to shoot me. As it is, I finally get the opportunity to use the shotgun for its original purpose, and they drop one after the other like ragged dominoes. I round the corner and come face to face with another opponent****, who only gets the chance to brandish her golf club at me before I hit her with the Electrobolt and send her jittering to her grave. A man lurking in the shadows behind her gives a cry of fury and plunges towards me, at which point he's flipped head-over-heels by a blast from the shotgun. I start towards the corpses, thinking that the fight's over, when there's a large explosion behind me and I turn to see a trio of splicers emerging from the flames. I curse inwardly- my fuel tank's just started to leak in earnest, and I get three opponents who seem to have adopted Incinerate! as their go-to plasmid. _Brilliant_.

I swiftly duck behind the counter as one of them throws a spray of fire towards me, and the stuff spatters against the wall, the wood smouldering and smoking on contact. It doesn't flame up, though- too soggy, I'd imagine. I feel a spark of hope that maybe I'm too damp for the fire to have much of an effect on me as well- but another quick glance at my forearm reveals that the entire right sleeve of my suit is now drenched in oil, with still more dripping out of the dented can. If even a spark lands on me, I'm going to go up like a supernova.  
The other two members of the group don't even bother with activating Incinerate! again, instead producing firearms and unloading their contents on me. Most of their shots ricochet off my tanks and helmet, but combined with their colleague's continuous barrage of fire, I have to devote all my energies to defence. I retreat backwards and then quickly duck behind the counter, awkwardly contorting my spine in order to fit my bulky frame behind the waist-high barrier. Luckily, the lights in the diner are still off and their blazing weaponry has robbed my opponents of their night vision, so they're oblivious to where I've disappeared to. As they frantically try to flare up again using the pitiful amount of ADAM they have left, I shuffle round to their right side, moving slowly to prevent the jangling of my equipment from giving me away. The trio have just realised that looking behind the one piece of furniture big enough to conceal me might be a good idea when I emerge from my hiding place, shotgun in hand. I dispose of my first opponent quickly with a headshot, then club the other two round the head with the gun, sending them flying in opposite directions. I wait for a few moments, tensed for another violent struggle, but my blows seem to have done the trick; neither of them is getting up any time soon.

Breathing a relieved sigh, I carefully unclip my fuel can from its holder and inspect it, trying to locate where the leak is. The thing's so covered in oil now that it's almost impossible to find the source, but eventually I locate it- a split that runs along the seam of the can, where the edge of the splicer's pipe caught it and tore it apart. I get out one of the patches from the medical kits, and slap it on. The tear mends speedily, but there's still fuel all over my suit. I'm going to have to clean it off before I can use Incinerate! in combat again.

Before I can set off in search of a puddle that I can use, however, the speakers buzz to life, and Grace Holloway's voice echoes throughout the station.

"Eleanor's all grown up now, Tin Daddy. Even after the way you twisted her, Doctor Lamb still found a way to save her baby girl, make her perfect. She's the daughter of all the Family now- and you, baby-snatcher, you're alone."

I'm glad I'm not trying to mend my gear any more, because I doubt I'd be able to concentrate on the task in hand with the steaming anger I feel boiling inside me. Eleanor doesn't need you to save her, Lamb. She's better than you- always was, and always will be. How dare you proclaim she needs "perfecting"? What does that even mean, anyhow? A cold trickle of fear spikes through the roiling fury in my gut. From what I can tell from her audio diaries, Lamb was always trying to use her daughter, to bend the kid to her own views and then use her as a tool to get what she wanted. What has she done to my little girl now she's got her back?

"Seems Gracie's got the wrong idea, chief." I start at the sound of another voice, but it's only Sinclair speaking over my radio. "You're not the one who turned young Eleanor into a Little Sister, any more than you're responsible for turning yourself into a Big Daddy. You were just a slave, like the rest of 'em- and you're only free now because of the kindness you showed to that kid. Don't let anyone tell you're some kinda monster."

He signs off. The corner of my mouth involuntarily quirks into a grin, happy that someone down here is actually on my side other than the daughter I'm saving. Especially since the guy owes nothing to me. From the audio logs and his own confessions, I'd believed that I was nothing more than a pack mule to him, a convenient form of transport for the loot that would make his fortune on the surface. And yet, now he's defending me. Huh. Maybe it's not just Grace who was judging a book by its cover.

I search the bodies and the rest of the diner for useful supplies, and take a few steps towards the door before I realise that maybe I should have learnt by now to read the labels on the bottles I empty into my port. Turns out a few of the containers I've been dumping into the thing contained booze, and now my surroundings are stretching and sagging like rotten elastic again. I groan, and stumble my way onto the street, noticing too late that the doorway has a trap strung over it. I spend a few seconds shuddering with the force of the electric shock the thing gave me before I regain enough control over my body and my vision to move on.

I round the corner and come face to face with the Big Daddy from earlier, this time with a Sister skipping at his side. I freeze, my conscience giving me a painful jab, and the Protector turns towards me, hands clenching his rivet gun. I back away, remembering belatedly that while we didn't attack before someone actually laid a hand on either our Sister or ourselves, we didn't react too kindly to people getting too close to us. As I leave his vicinity, the Rosie relaxes and beckons to his charge, who'd hidden behind his tree-trunk legs the moment their passage brought them too close to me for comfort. She smiles, and clasps one of his massive fingers in her tiny hand in order to tug him along. As I watch the pair, part of me remembers another time when it was me being dragged along, bent almost double but not caring as long as my charge was happy. The kid was all I cared about in those days, the only person I was aware of, really- her, and anyone who dared hurt her. I kind of miss it, in some ways- now, my thought processes worry and tease at the details of every situation, until I'm not sure what I should do any more. Should I really be killing these Protectors, who only want to defend the children so many people have ruthlessly exploited for their own gain? Should I even be killing the splicers, given that they were once people too, and might not be entirely beyond saving? Am I becoming just another Lamb, justifying my actions as deeds that will benefit the "greater good" of saving Eleanor?

But there it is- no matter what the cost, no matter what it takes, I will get the kid out of here. I don't care how many splicers I have to go through, or how many taunts and trials from Lamb I have to endure. If I can only save my daughter- well, I'd be willing to tear this city apart.

 **Footnotes:**

* Or the comfort of any cults I run in my spare time.

**Why exactly he felt like scribbling down the new passcode for the clinic was more important than defending his life, I couldn't say, but hey, I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

*** I don't know whether it's a feature they built in to stop Big Daddies getting drunk on the job, a symptom of excessive ADAM consumption, or just that drinks in Rapture are as strange as the rest of the city, but any alcohol I find tends to produce the same effect- about 30 seconds of extreme dizziness, and nothing else. Rapture alcohol is the only stuff I've ever had, for fairly obvious reasons, but something tells me that the upshot of heavy drinking is usually a bit different- the word "hangover" springs to mind, though I have no idea why.

**** Or face to mask, I suppose- a fetching number designed for welding, in this case.

 **Author's note:**

 **Well, that took an inordinate amount of time to write. I'm sorry, folks, but I've been so busy recently that I haven't had time to sit down and get anything done- and the coming months aren't looking any less jam-packed. I'm afraid updates are going to be even more sporadic than they are normally, probably, but I will try and keep updating as often as I can, and hopefully after a bit they'll get a bit more regular again. Thank you so much for all your feedback and reviews, especially the guest review I received which of course I couldn't reply to. Your comments are what keep this thing going, so thank you all for your feedback.**


	20. Chapter 20

Darn it, these combination locks are fiddly. Well, they probably aren't fiddly for people who aren't wearing plus-size leather gloves which are too stiff to bend and too slimy to grip, but I'm not one of those happy few, and so I'm forced to spend a good few minutes struggling with the dials-

"Why are you so big, Daddy?"

\- whilst being pestered constantly by the Sister I picked up from that Protector. I don't have anything against curiosity in general, but when you can't answer questions due to getting your vocal chords ripped out and you're already being driven round the bend by your horrible lack of skill when it comes to these locks, it starts to grate a little.  
I give a low grumble in response to her most recent inquiry, and finally manage to slot the last digit into place. A satisfying _click_ later, and we're in.

The reception area is lined with shimmering green tiles, their verdant glow broken only by the occasional red cross or yellowing poster. In days of yore, it must have seemed like you had stepped out into the open ocean- now, the illusion is dispelled by the plethora of cracks and dents in the walls, scribbling outwards like spiderwebs. Those, and-

"Why are there so many rosies everywhere?"

\- and the fact that practically everything is coated in a thick layer of blood. It pools on the floor, and drips down the walls, and forms stalactites on the ceiling. It's all dried to a dark-brown hue, which curbs my wariness a little, but I go cautiously even so, waving for the Sister to be quiet so I can listen for any attackers. It doesn't work, of course.

"Why are there so many? Is it a flower shop?"

Shoot, kid, zip it! I give a reproachful growl, and she finally subsides, folding her arms and pouting at me from my shoulder. I venture onwards, drill at the ready. I find a few supplies in a cabinet next to a set of steps, and claim them before making my way upstairs*. The Rapture architects have really outdone themselves this time- not only are the stairs horribly narrow and slick with water from leaks in the ceiling, but they're also lined with the same tiles from the reception, meaning that I have even less purchase on the steps than I usually do. I inch my way up, clinging to the banister for dear life and cursing every time a tile gives up the ghost and slips out of its bed of cement. I'm almost at the top, when-

"Surprise, freak!"

\- a flaming barrel of something hurtles towards me and knocks me flying. I plummet down the stairs, my gear jangling and crashing as I tumble, and smash into the wall at the bottom. I straighten up, and realise with horror that the kid's been flung off my back. Twisting round, I scan the room frantically for the child, and eventually locate her lying in the corner, looking frightened out of her wits. I feel a stab of fury in my gut, a screaming thirst for revenge, but ignore it in favour of heading over and checking she's alright. Miraculously, it seems she's not too badly hurt: she managed to skid across the tiles rather than fly into the air when she fell off, and her crash against the wall was buffered by some battered couch cushions from the rotting settee next to the window. Still, the anger I felt before is well and truly boiling when I turn back to face our enemy. It's a male splicer, his distorted features so bloated that he couldn't even fit a mask on top. He winks at me as I come into view, forcing his eyelid down through the flaccid folds of flesh around his eye, and uses Telekinesis to fling another barrel my way. There's just enough time for his sagging face to stretch into a distorted grin before I snatch the thing out of the air using my own plasmid and smash him to pieces with his own projectile. I charge up the steps, and end up bolting right into the range of a security camera, which promptly starts chiming a warning. Drat. I backtrack down the stairs quickly, and pick up the Little Sister.

"Thank you, Daddy. Why was the stranger so angry with you?"

I give a shrug, and after seating her back on my shoulder (double-checking to ensure her grip on her perch is secure) I continue onwards, this time sticking close to the wall in an attempt to evade the camera's gaze. For once, I'm in luck: we manage to make it to the top of the stairs without us plummeting to our doom or my armour getting turned into a giant rusty colander by the security system. I clip on my remote hacking tool (earning an excited "What's _that_ toy for, Daddy?" from my companion) and lean cautiously around the corner, hoping I can catch the camera on its sweep of the other side of the room.

Of course, by this time my luck has returned to its usual "terminally low" status, and the camera is pointing directly at me when I make my appearance. Nevertheless, I manage to fire the dart and duck out of sight before it can make it through its first alarm warble. I hunch over the hacking device, struggling to manipulate its minute controls with my massive fingers.

"Daddy, can I see?"

Oh no you don't, kid. This thing gives you quite a _shocking_ punishment if you get your timing wrong**. Besides, I'm not going to be complicit in you learning how to hack security systems. I'm going to get you back to your family, and when they do get you back I don't want you looting your local sweet shop or something with skills I taught you.

I hold the machine out of her reach, trying to force my digits to move faster through their stiff leather coating. I don't have much success- I have a feeling my designers wanted to make sure I kept my hands off any gadgets I might find around the place- but I'm able to finish the job before the Sister gets her mitts on the hack tool, and she breathes a sigh of disappointment as the camera lets out a cheery ring and swivels to attention on its pivot.

We pass my new mechanical friend and head over to a medical station- I'm in need of a couple of kits' worth of ADAM after that brief altercation on the stairs. The girl on my back cranes her neck curiously as I take out the hack tool again, but looks away sheepishly when I turn my faceplate towards her in the best approximation of an accusing glare I can muster. Unfortunately, my sense of timing seems to have deserted me along with my audience, and I get shocked several times as I try to hack my way to the med kits inside the machine.

"You have to hit the button a bit earlier, Daddy..."

I turn again to look at the Sister, who ducks her head apologetically.

"Sorry Daddy," she says. "I just wondered how you did it. Would you like some help?"

I shake my head firmly. Not a chance, kid. You did just see what the thing did to me, right? And I'm fairly big. Goodness knows what the effect of that much electricity on you would be, and I don't want to find out.

"Are you sure? You don't seem very good at it."

Hmph. Well, I suppose honesty's a virtue. The answer's still no, though, so another shake of the head it is.  
"You aren't sure? Shall I help, then?"

Drat. One of _those_ kids. I ignore her inquiry, and instead focus on completing the hack. I few seconds later, and I'm rewarded with three first aid kits and a mutter of "I could have done it faster…". I give a reproachful growl, and tramp off to see where the clinic kept those stacks of ADAM that man Tobias was talking about. There's a door at the other end of the room that looks like it might lead to a storage room, so I thump the button to open it-

\- and get hit by a volley of bullets from the turret that was lurking behind the door.

Usually in these situations, I have my wits about me enough to duck behind something before I'm perforated to a dangerous extent, but I was distracted by the kid's complaints and didn't manage to get out of the way in time. Now, I'm down on my hands and knees, watching as dark liquid spatters my suit and stains the tiles below me.

"You- you're leaking, Daddy! Make it stop! Please!"

I give a pained groan, and haul myself to my feet- just in time to receive another round from a security bot that's just flown out of the aperture. I stagger backwards as the machine circles around me sinking shot after shot into my carcass, flinging an arm up in a desperate attempt to shield. It doesn't work, predictably, and it's even less effective when more bots join the first, pouring out of the doorway in a bizarre conga line. I buckle under their combined assault, crashing down as I back myself into a corner in a frantic attempt to elude their onslaught. The Sister goes flying once again, yelping in panic, though where she ends up I can't make out. Just as long as she has enough time to get away, I think muzzily; together, the machines have pretty much decimated my chances of escaping from this particular situation. Lamb would have fun with that, I suppose- stronger as a family, and so on.

I suppose I should count myself lucky that the things make no distinction between between my gear and my suit, and therefore several bullets end up ricocheting off my tanks and helmet, but a nastily significant amount of ammo is still ending up in my soft tissues. My ADAM reserves are draining lower and lower as my tank pumps it into my veins as quickly as possible in a futile attempt to keep me breathing. Sooner or later, I'm going to run out, and this time there's going to be no vita-chamber to save my hide.

I try to drag myself out of the drones' line of fire, give myself a chance to heal, but at this point I'm trying to see through a haze of crimson and move through a burning world of pain, so I have no idea where I should even head to. I reach towards my hack tool, hoping against hope that I can disable the machines somehow, but when I extend my right hand its weight is missing. It must have been shot off in the barrage. Still, I can't give up. The kid needs me. I need to protect her. I paw at the floor in a pathetic attempt to crawl away, hating my weakness, my failure. So much for "Sir Bubbles", kid. I'm sorry-

-the security bot nearest me suddenly flares with green light. I look up in shock as it pivots around and destroys its neighbour, sending it crashing down beside me in a blazing inferno. I look past the devastation, and see the kid, clutching the hack tool and gazing up in astonishment at her new ally. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I take the opening I've been granted, and haul myself out of the danger zone as the machines' treacherous fellow empties its arsenal on them. I end up near the medical station I hacked before, and lose no time in prying off its exterior to get at the kits inside. With their ADAM in me, I have just enough energy to return to the brawl, where the Sister's bot has been holding its own fairly impressively. This may have something to do with the fact that the kid's hacked the turret near the door by now too, and is using it to knock the security bots into her friend's line of fire. She looks up from her work as I trudge over, and gives me an embarrassed glance. I sigh, and give her a thumbs-up. I still don't like the idea of the kid handling that erratic technology, but I am grateful to her for saving my life. Still, now it's time for me to earn my paycheck***.

 **Footnotes:**

* Bandages and sardines- I don't know why the latter would be kept so close to hand in a clinic, but maybe oily fish has some very important function in medical procedures that my ADAM-addled brain just can't grasp.

** Ugh. This is what spending too much time with 8-year-olds will do to a sense of humour.

*** Well, it would be, if I actually earned any money. As it is, the only thing I've ever received from my boss has been extensive medical torture.

 **Author's note:**

 **Well, shoot. I'm so sorry about the wait for this chapter. Things have been** ** _busy_** **, lately, and they don't look like they're about to get any less busy any time soon, so the next chapter is going to be a while as well. I'm really sorry. I won't abandon this fic, but it looks like updates might be a bit few and far between for a while. Again, I am sorry.**

 **On the other hand, thank you so much for bearing with me and keeping on reading this fic. Your comments and suggestions mean a lot to me.**


	21. Chapter 21

I give a growl of frustration as the nearest security bot dodges my rivets yet again, veering in a haphazard semi-circle to avoid their red-hot trail and firing on me all the while. I'm forced to dive to the ground to avoid getting perforated, thinking darkly that the whirr of its propeller has a nastily smug edge to it. Why is my aim so poor? Well, I know the real reason- I've never so much as laid hands on a long-range weapon up until recently- but it's cold comfort when you've been fighting for what seems like hours on end and still don't seem any closer to finishing your opponents off.

Another bot circles down towards me, and I throw myself out of the way just before it opens fire. Thankfully, its spiralling path has brought it within arm's reach, and I smash it out of the air with the butt of the rivet gun before it can come any closer. It crashes against a wall and detonates loudly, sending bits and pieces of mechanical debris ricocheting off its fellows with a chorus of _clanks_ and _pings_. One nearby drone even gets so heavily bombarded that it careens towards me, giving me the opportunity to smash it into pieces with another well-placed blow from the gun. Not so smug now, are we? There's four more to take out though, and they all seem to be somewhat stand-offish, so I'm forced to play shooting gallery once again.  
I'm taking aim at one of my opponents while trying to shield myself from the deluge of lead from the other three when there's a _thunk_ as something hits my sparring partner's side, and, after a few moments of hurried tapping from the corner, its lights flash a friendly green. I shoot as accusing a glare as I can manage towards the Sister in the corner, who gives me an angelic smile and a wave. I stare her down for another moment, trying to exert my authority, before a bullet glancing off the side of my helmet reminds me that the fight isn't over yet, and I should get back to business before the kid messes up while trying to help me and shocks herself into oblivion.  
I twist round and deliver a volley of shots into the nearest security bot, sending it spiralling downwards in a miniature tornado of flames. Much as I hate to admit it, the Sister's assistance is useful: her new friend's fellows are too well-armoured for most of its erratic hits to do much more than knock them off course, but it draws their fire for long enough to allow me to actually aim and land a few shots on them. I take the next one down in similar fashion, waiting for the moment our mechanical ally steers it into my line of sight and then shooting it into a starburst of flying metal fragments and flickering fiery tongues. I scan the room for the final robot, only to find the Sister busily tapping at her- at _the_ hack tool, a dart already sunk into the bot's side. What she hasn't realised is that her shot has attracted the thing's attention, and now it's whirring towards her, its lights burning with malicious intent. Just before it starts firing, I manage to slam it into the wall with my drill, making the Sister start back in surprise at the _crunch_. She retreats hastily as the thing pivots to face me, swaying from side to side and sprinkling cogs and gears from the gaping hole in its casing. I lose no time in trying to land another hit on it, but the bot's gotten wise to my tactics and darts backwards, sending me stumbling forwards right into the rain of shots it's now firing.  
"Daddy!"  
I turn towards the kid's cry, and am temporarily deafened as a bullet ricochets off my helmet, making the brass ring out like a bell. I give a moan of pain and clamp my hands over the metal in a desperate attempt to stop it ringing, while more bullets sink into my tissues. As I do so, I note distantly that the girl's still tapping away at the hack tool, but she's getting distracted; she keeps looking away from the display to where I'm hunched, biting her lip anxiously and wrinkling her brow. That's not good: if she makes one mistake, that tool is going to deliver several amps of current into her flesh. I have to get rid of the bot before she can do herself a mischief. My resolve sharpening, I straighten up and lurch towards the last bot, my rivet gun arcing up towards it and smashing into its underbelly. The machine gives a pitiful _bleep_ of distress before I slam it into the wall with another blow, flattening it with a satisfying _crunch_.  
Just as I give a groan of relief, I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me, and turn to see the kid staring in panic at the device, which is now crackling ominously, charge building up inside it at a worrying pace. I dive towards her, and manage to knock the device out of her hands before it flares up with electricity, sending forth sprays of sparks into the tiles below it. The Sister and I stare at them in silence, both of us too shocked and worn out to do anything more than gaze numbly at the miniature supernova.

It seems like my skills have been slipping. First the Incident with Lamb, and now my charge has had to save me and almost got herself fried doing it. Well. I won't let it happen again.  
The girl gives me a guilty look when I straighten up, scrabbling to get to her own feet. "Sorry, Daddy," she mutters, clasping her hands awkwardly behind her back. "I know you said no, but you looked like you were in trouble, so-"  
I cut her off with a raised hand. I don't object to her wanting to help out- more people could do with that kind of attitude down here. But I'm not going to have a child put herself in danger for me. That's _my_ job, kid. I'm the Protector, and you're my charge. But when I reach out a hand towards the hack tool, the Sister pounces on it and clutches it to her chest.  
"Erm… Shouldn't I keep it, Daddy?" she asks quietly, giving me a tentative smile. I shake my head sternly, and gesture emphatically for her to hand it back.  
"Please, Daddy," she says pleadingly, retreating. "I can tame the whirlybirds better than you can!"  
I don't care how good you are, kid, I'm not letting you risk yourself every other second just so you can feel useful. Give it back. I reach towards it, but the Sister jerks it away from me, her movements flashing like lightning next to my strained, creaking gestures. I give a warning growl, and attempt to snatch the thing from her again.  
"Uh-uh! That's not nice, Daddy!"  
Gosh darn it, kid! I give a growl of frustration. She starts away from me, looking scared but determined, and grips the hack tool more tightly.  
"Please, Daddy! I want to help! Eleanor misses you so much!"  
I freeze. I know it's a cheap trick, but I can't ignore the fact that the Sister seems to know something about the kid.  
She relaxes slightly when she realises I'm not making an attempt to grab the thing from her, but maintains her white-knuckled hold on the device. I feel a sharp twist of guilt at her expression- I don't want to frighten her, but gosh darn it, I don't want her putting herself on the line for me.  
"I hear her all the time," she says softly. "She's so frightened, Daddy. Her mommy- she scares me. I just want to help her see you again."  
She looks up at me, her eyes large and distinctly damp-looking. I feel a stab of sympathy for the little girl, and the temptation to give in to her pleas intensifies. But I can't. A shock from the hack tool could kill a small child like her. I won't let her get hurt for me.  
"If it were me, son, I'd listen to L'il Sis there." I flinch at the sound of a voice, but it's only Sinclair. "She ain't a normal girl- she's got enough ADAM in there to take a hundred shocks and still come up smiling. She's pretty gifted with that machine- and you might be too, chief, but you can't do everything. Give her a chance- we both of us want to see you save your kid."  
I'd forgotten that the girl was a Little Sister. Sinclair's right, she won't be injured by the shocks- but she can still feel pain.  
"Don't worry, Daddy," says the Sister, patting my knee with a tiny hand. "I'll be fine. Don't you want to go home?"  
That clinches it. I don't have a home to go back to*, but this child does- there's a family out there somewhere, searching desperately for their daughter or grieving bitterly over her absence. If we work together, maybe we can get her back to them more quickly.  
I give a long groan, then a single nod. The girl smiles, and starts to thank me, but I merely hold out a hand: I don't feel like I deserve her gratitude when what I'm doing ties my insides into such twisted knots**. Instead, I merely offer a hand-up to her perch. She clambers up onto my back, and we march on.

To my surprise, the door doesn't lead to another small office, as I supposed it would, but out onto a rickety wooden platform that circles round a large chamber. I groan as I realise that it's going to be a while before we reach solid ground again, and gesture for my charge to hang onto her seat in case my weight sends us crashing to the floor below.  
I tentatively inch a foot across the threshold and test the sturdiness of the floor, and give a sigh of relief when it holds. I gingerly make my way along the platform, ducking around the rivulets streaming from the ceiling to avoid drenching the girl in filthy water. After what seems like an eternity of staring down at my feet, trying to identify which boards look the least solid, I finally reach another door, bright yellow light streaming from the small gap where the it's been left ajar. While the Sister smiles at its brightness and reaches out towards it, I reflect glumly on the fact that it means someone's been in here recently, and could still be there for all we know. I strap on my drill, glad to get back to a weapon I actually know how to use. I make a brief stop at a vending machine, where the Sister deftly hacks her way to a wealth of reductions, then steel myself and head on in.  
Happily, there's nothing in there apart from a "Power to the People" machine- or there doesn't seem to be, anyway. All the same, I keep a wary eye out as I tinker with my shotgun to give me a larger clip size, the Sister exclaiming over my "new toy" and asking me about how I know so much about mechanics***. I'm right to be suspicious: over my ward's chatter, I can hear high-pitched voices and shrill giggles from somewhere above my head, and I realise with a heavy heart that their owners must be up the staircase in the corner of the room. Brilliant, I think sullenly, shouldering my improved firearm and heading towards the first of what promises to be a lot of steps, hoping that I might be a bit better with a long-range weapon against ADAM-addled splicers. Knowing my luck, I won't be.

 **Footnotes:**

* Well, I have Eleanor, but I'm starting to worry about exactly what I am to her. We haven't seen each other for years, and while she identifies me as her father now, what's it going to be like when we actually meet? My one consolation is that, compared to Lamb, pretty much anyone could win Parent of the Year.

** And that's coming from a man who had his intestines so tangled that he can feed himself by shoving things into a can near his arm. Yeesh.

***For the record, I'm not really sure. It's another one of those things that I just seem to know, in some dark little corner of whatever's left of my brain. I've never seen another Big Daddy use one of these things, but then again, the rest of them are walking around in a brainwashed haze, so I'm not sure that's proof of anything.

 **Author's note:**

 **And we're back. I am so, so sorry it took this long. Work has been, quite frankly, a nightmare. I've had practically no time to myself for the weeks I've been gone, and although this fic has been getting written, it's been doing so very,** ** _very_** **slowly. The worst is over for now, so updates should be a little more regular. We'll see how we go.**

 **On a lighter note- thanks so much to everyone who's stuck with this fic, and for all the people who reviewed, favourited and followed! Seriously, all your feedback means so much to me, and it's the reason this fic was getting scrawled down word by word for the last few weeks. Thank you.**


	22. Chapter 22

"No one messes with _my_ daddy!"

Try again, kid, I think wearily, as I empty the pockets of the skimpy evening dress that one of our attackers was wearing. I may not be dead yet, but I've still been in one too many altercations for my liking. Still, at least this one wasn't too bad; just two young women, who might once have been attractive before the ADAM ate their features away and stole their minds. The Sister on my shoulder's unperturbed by the sight of their mangled forms, a fact which I'm not sure whether to feel relieved or disturbed about.

I trudge down a corridor and duck through a hole in the wall, prying away the boards which haphazardly cover it. I step into what seems like a back alley, draped in sheets and lit by a dim greenish light, which makes it seem as though we've stepped out of the city's confines and are now swimming through the water that lurks outside these buildings. There's a Little Sister vent opposite us, the wall above it daubed with another of Lamb's slogans. I wonder if I can maybe persuade the Sister to go inside; I won't have gathered any ADAM, true, but she won't have to tinker with that hacking tool again. The idea taking hold of me, I take a few thunderous footsteps in its direction- and realise with a heavy heart that a few splicers were kneeling beside the vent in praying positions and they're not too happy at my interruption.

The first to attack is a female, swinging a length of piping that looks far too heavy to be supported by her skinny arms. That's the wonders of ADAM for you, I think to myself sourly, as I send a jolt of electricity crackling her way: even the scrawniest among you can lift a train carriage if you're willing to inject yourself with a solution that will tear your genes apart and melt your senses away. It seems like the splicer was standing in a puddle, because the whirlwind of sparks that engulfs her crawls down her legs and jets across the floor to her companions. Soon they're all jerking and twitching in time as the Electrobolt works its way through their bodies, leaving me to dispose of them with a simple blast each from my shotgun. Skirting gingerly around the water they're lying in, I salvage supplies from their corpses and pick up an audio diary from a mass of candles standing to the left of the vent.

It's one from Lamb, and she's talking to Eleanor. Mummy has to leave for a while, she says in a voice so devoid of actual motherly warmth I actually feel the room get colder, and Eleanor will be staying with Aunt Grace. Eleanor's crying and pleading for her not to go, but Lamb merely tells her that weeping isn't fitting for a girl in her position, and to remember that-  
"What was it I told you, Eleanor?"  
"I am very special."

I clench my fists at the kid's tone. She sounds so miserable and hopeless, as though she's felt more sadness than most people have in their old age. She always sounded so bright and curious on our rounds, telling me long, rambling stories or shouting encouragements as I fought to defend her. I shouldn't have let this woman get her claws in her again.  
Lamb drones on, uncaring of how rage wells up inside me and stabs at my innards.  
"That's right. And what else, Eleanor?"  
"You made me to change the world."  
"Good. And when I return, the world shall be a different place indeed…"

"Are you alright, Daddy?"  
I start at the sound of the Sister's voice.  
"I know you don't like her, Daddy. I don't, either. I think," the girl lowers her voice, as though Lamb's lurking behind one of the sheets and is listening in, "I think she's an old _witch_!"  
I give a gruff chuckle, and give her a thumbs-up. This Sister might be a little too eager to help for her own good, but her heart's in the right place. I feel a bit sorry at having to say goodbye so soon, but I'd rather that than have her risk herself again and again for my sake. But as soon as we get close enough to lower her inside, she clings to her seat and shakes her head defiantly.  
" _Daddy_! I'm not sleepy yet! Besides," and here she narrows her eyes at me suspiciously, "I want to help you, remember?"  
Darn it, she's onto me. I give a sigh of defeat, and trudge off round the corner. The walls are lined with corrugated iron here, and lit with a sickly mixture of acid green and blazing red from a security camera and a brazier respectively. There's another of those makeshift pathways that the residents built out of planks, leading to another door, and I make my way across it, trying not to breathe too deeply in case the extra weight causes me to plummet to the ground below.

The door leads to another corridor, this one a dark, dripping green. There's a wide set of steps leading down to another room* and to the right of them is a makeshift camp, with a filthy mattress and a piece of canvas propped up with a broom handle sheltering it from the worst of the leaks. I search it for supplies and then make my way down the stairs, through yet another door, and find myself on the roof of the clinic with a hole directly in front of me leading to what looks like a store room. I have no idea how the convoluted labyrinth I've been through led here, but I'm not about to question my good fortune; with enough luck, this hole'll lead to the room where they were keeping their stocks of ADAM. Still, before I drop down there, I decide to search around for supplies, and find yet another of those rickety wooden walkways that link two rooftops. Oh, the joy. You know, I think these things might just tie with stairs for the position of my least favourite architectural feature. There's a reason why the builders of Rapture didn't include these things in the first place, residents. It's because they're dangerous and unnecessary- or at least, they would be the latter if you'd stop keeping things on top of one another's roofs. Nevertheless, I take a deep breath and begin to navigate the narrow bridge, the structure creaking and groaning ominously with every step.

I finally reach the other side, and almost meet my doom anyway when a splicer dashes out of a door and enthusiastically tries to beat my faceplate in with a wrench. Sick to the back teeth of balancing on planks, traipsing round in circles and countless sneak attacks, I give a low snarl and shove him against the wall before sinking my drill into his midriff. I do _not_ have time for your games, whoever the heck you are. Just stay out of my business, and I won't have to take you out. Simple as.  
"Daddy's making you see stars and birdies!"  
I flinch guiltily at the Sister's voice, but she seems happy enough, even chuckling as the man collapses to the floor. Don't get me wrong, that's pretty disturbing, but at least she isn't panicking and flinging herself away from me. She wouldn't last ten seconds if I wasn't there, especially with her urge to tinker with things that could quite easily kill her.  
I loot the corpse as quickly as possible, and turn away to search the rest of the room. It looks as if it's also part of the surgery, its walls lined with white tiles and a contorted gurney lying abandoned on the mouldering floor. There's a medicine cabinet in a corner, in which I discover another audio diary. When I hit the play button, the voice that crackles out of the tinny speakers is that of a woman, low and musical and ineffably sad- Grace's voice. She's talking to Lamb, or "Sofia", as she calls her, about her plight. It seems as though Rapture, despite Moustache Man's struggles to make it an equal society, separated with some speed into the rich and the poor, and Grace landed decidedly in the latter category.  
Lamb is sympathetic, her chilling tones coated with a thick layer of sickly-sweet kindness like honeyed ice. That's just not true, Grace. She and her are exactly the same, don't you see? Two pariahs, cast out of paradise for trying to find a _true_ Utopia. She doesn't say much, just enough to twist into the semblance of a helping hand, and asks Grace to wear a butterfly brooch to their next session if she wants to find out more.

This woman- no, I can't call her that any more. That implies she's human. This monster should _never_ have been allowed to mess around with psychiatry. The weak and the vulnerable went to her for help, and she used them like they were nothing more than objects, to keep her safe and further her goals. She claims to be a saviour, and yet she's never around when people actually need help, whether it's against Ryan and his men or against me. No, she's safely ensconced in "the house of upside-down", my daughter locked away with her, flinging more and more of her "Family" to their deaths in her attempts to capture me. Well, I'll tell you something, creature. You're about to learn exactly far a real family will go to keep a monster like you from one of their own.

 **Footnotes:**

* Am I even in the clinic any more? I doubt it, unless it's a magical clinic with a gateway to another world inside. For some reason, I start thinking of lampposts and wardrobes round about now, so I swiftly hit the brakes on that train of thought before I fry my brain altogether.

 **Well, finally we're back- sorry it took so long. Thank you all for sticking with me, and to all of those who favourited, followed, and left feedback. Seriously, this fic pretty much runs on your comments, so thank you so much for giving me those reviews.**

 **We're almost up to twenty-five chapters, people! _Twenty-five_. This is the longest thing I've ever written. I was thinking, should we do something to celebrate the milestone? I have absolutely no idea what we'd do, though, so just leave a review or PM me with your suggestions if you have any. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	23. Chapter 23

I crash onto the floor of the clinic with considerable force, the tiles beneath my boots splitting apart and dust and debris flying up in dusty columns from the cracks. The Sister gives a yelp on impact, clinging to the complicated tubing of my tanks with a grip so tight that my ADAM supply's almost cut off. I give a concerned grumble and receive a weak smile in return.

"Don't worry, Daddy, I'm fine. Where are we?"

I take stock of my surroundings. We seem to have landed behind a counter, which is in surprisingly good condition given the general state of Rapture; even the till is intact, its keys and bell still gleaming through the grime and grot of the years. There's something else on the counter as well- a boxy, chunky something, which, despite the complex innards I can just make out through a gap where its panelling's been pulled away, looks as though it would make a fairly effective club if it weren't so blocky.

"What is it, Daddy?" asks the Sister, leaning forward precariously to get a better look. I'm not so terribly sure myself. With the stubby periscope-like attachment on top and vaguely boat-shaped base it looks almost like a model of a battleship, but that wouldn't account for the intricate machinery I can glimpse inside. I take it in my hands and turn it over, trying to work out just what it is. I don't have to look for long: my questing fingers dislodge a lens cap, and I realise I'm holding a camera.

"Well done, sport!" Sinclair's smooth tones spill out of my radio. "That there's a research camera. Ryan Industries starting sellin' them when the splicer problem started gettin' harder to handle. The chief of security decided they needed to know more about the things and how they fought if they wanted to have any chance of dealin' with the outbreak, so they started payin' for footage of the creatures in action. 'Course, no one really wanted to engage the things in combat, so the cameras were made as an incentive of sorts. Get enough good footage, and you can trade in the tickets the camera dispenses for tonics and such at one of the booths."

I weigh the thing in my hand thoughtfully. The promised bonuses do sound handy, but the idea of wrestling with a camera in the middle of a brawl does not sound like fun. Just give me a moment, teaming hordes of splicers- I know you're spoiling for a fight, but I want to get a good shot of you running up to smash my faceplate open.

"Who was that? Is it another Daddy? He sounds different."

The girl's voice jerks me out of my thoughts, and I realise that she's overheard Sinclair on my radio- the thing must be louder than I thought. I ponder her inquiry briefly, then give an affirmative grunt and nod: Sinclair might not be a Protector, but as he's helping both Tenenbaum and myself in our struggles to save these new Sisters* I'm happy to give him a free pass. Welcome to the gang, sir. Have a handful of ADAM mutations, gratis.

"Oh." The Sister pauses in thought for a moment- I use the lull in conversation to try and wedge the camera in a tangled web of rope near my shoulder, and fail miserably. "What are you doing with the camera, daddy?" I gesture at the makeshift harness I'm trying to assemble. "Hmm…" The Sister frowns in thought, forehead wrinkling. "You could strap it to your helmet, maybe?"

I'm considering her suggestion- maybe the brass fixings of the helmet would help me anchor the thing more securely, but it's going to leave me with a heavy, unwieldy object attached to my head- when I'm startled by a crash from the doorway. I hastily stow the camera behind the counter as a splicer starts to pound on the glass portion of the door, dragging his distorted face over the glass like a filthy cleaning rag. He gives a broad smile when he realises I'm watching, his bloated lips pulling back to reveal rows of rotting, yellowed fangs with gaps here and there where teeth have been knocked out. I give an involuntary growl, but stand my ground: he may be spliced out of his wits, but he doesn't seem to be able to get in. That's round about the time that I hear the telltale whir of a security bot outside the door, and realise our friend outside isn't exactly working alone. I get all of two seconds to duck behind the counter before the glass in the door gives way under a hail of bullets, and the splicers start pouring in.

I crawl over to the far end of the counter, where I can crane round and see my opponents make their entrance through the jagged hole in the window. It's not a terribly graceful entrance: there's an awful lot of contorting and cursing going on as they try and crawl through the gap without impaling themselves on the dagger-sharp spears of glass left in the frame. The bot only makes things worse, trying to force its way through the aperture regardless of the jagged remnants of window and its allies' attempts to clamber in. As a result, I manage to take care of two of them with a couple of headshots from the shotgun while they're crawling in, and the Sister's halfway through hacking their mechanical accomplice by the time the first one gets through.

Unfortunately, the girl's intense concentration on her task has left her oblivious to the outside world, and the splicer who's just come in has marked her as easy prey. I charge forward and slam him over the head with the gun before he can get too close to the kid, but my reckless dash has taken me far away from any cover and right up close to the smashed window, where more of Lamb's followers are spilling in. I quickly toss the shotgun to one side and duck out of the way as the female scrambling through lunges at my faceplate with a wrench. I clamp the drill over my hand and start clicking the buckles shut as I do so, my eyes flicking from the fastenings to my advancing foe and back. There's quite a few buckles to shut though, and so when she finishes pulling herself through and takes another swing I'm left with no other alternative than to back away into the corner, leaving the Sister exposed and the window unguarded while I feverishly scrabble at my arm.

I'm still fumbling with the fastenings when another shadow slides into view, and I look up from my frantic work to see that another female has joined the first. She carries no weapon, but the electricity crawling over her hands explains the chilling grins spread across my opponents' faces. Despite the widespread ADAM abuse down here, not many people have enough skill with plasmids to rely on them as their only means of defence- those who do are not to be tangled with. I have just enough time to dodge out of the way before the once-woman blasts the tiles behind me with several volts'-worth of sparks, the thin layer of moisture spreading the electricity over the wall like a tidal wave covering a continent. The splicers are forced to leap backwards as the sparks crawl downwards and pour into the puddle of water at their feet, circles of lightning rolling out from the centre and arching into the air like flying fish. I use their distraction to finish buckling the drill on and lunge towards them, my left hand flaring up with Incinerate! as I do.

The wrench-wielding splicer steps forward to block my attack, while her companion dodges backwards: as lethal as the plasmid-user's Electrobolt is, it can't stop a physical blow. The woman's weapon collides with the drill with a dull _clank_ , her lips drawing back from her teeth in a feral snarl as she struggles to slow my swing. Despite her scrawny build, her strength is formidable: our fight decelerates to a tableau, the two of us locked in motionless combat. I'm the first to pull away as I catch sight of the woman's ally readying another plasmid attack, wrenching myself out of our stalemate with a clatter and a squeal from my foe as she overbalances. As she falls backwards she crashes into her ally, and both of them end up tangled on the floor, with the bolt of electricity the plasmid-user was conjuring fizzling harmlessly into nothing. I raise my blazing right hand to finish them off, but before I can activate Incinerate! something yanks me backwards by my tanks and I'm sent crashing into the counter. I struggle upright and twist round in time to see two other splicers behind me; they must have crawled in through the window while I was dealing with the first two. I give a growl of frustration: now I'm going to have to fight four splicers at once, and while they wouldn't pose much of a problem individually, dealing with them as a group is going to be something of a struggle. I grit my teeth and brace myself for the attack.

I lucked out in that the splicers are all rather disorientated at the moment; my two foes from earlier are still trying to disentangle themselves from the pile they ended up in, and the splicers who dragged me backwards hadn't realised that I'd recover so quickly from the fall. They expected to be able to just pry off my faceplate and stave my head in with their crowbars while I lay stunned, I suppose; now, confronted by a fully-operational Big Daddy with more weapons than he knows what to do with and a wide variety of plasmids to use on them, they're more than a little discomfited. Well, that's fine by me. I send a rolling wave of fire towards them with Incinerate!, forcing them backwards against the wall as they scramble out of the way of the flaming tongues. Despite their hasty retreat, they've both been set aflame, and as they try and beat it out I turn round to deal with the ladies. They seem rather more competent than their allies- they've extricated themselves from the undignified heap they were in and are now braced for action. The plasmid-user strikes first, sending a bolt of electricity into the puddle beneath my feet. This time, it's me who has to stumble backwards as the surface of the pool ripples with sparks. The female's face contorts into a grin beneath her white cat mask, only to twist into an expression of horror as I hit her friend with a blast of fire from my own plasmid. She gives a vengeful hiss, barely audible over the rest of the splicers' wailing as their flesh is roasted, and readies her Electrobolt for another shot- only to be caught in the chest by a round of bullets from the security bot, who's only just joined the fight.

I glance over to the Little Sister, who looks up from the hack tool to give me a friendly wave. "Sorry it took so long, Daddy!" she calls cheerfully, seemingly unaware of the screams of terror and agony filling the room. "He had a bit of trouble getting through the door!" She jumps as an aggressive beeping suddenly rings out, followed by the thunder of gunfire, and I indicate the security bot that's trying to make its way through the shattered aperture and has just shot down her friendly machine.

"Oh! Don't worry Daddy, I'll get it."

I give a nod of appreciation and turn back to the fight, where the two crowbar-brandishing splicers have finally gotten their act together and smothered the worst of the flames. Nevertheless, they're looking decidedly the worse for wear: one's hand is now nothing more than a collection of burnt twigs held together by a prayer, and the other is limping badly. They're surprisingly fast, though; I'm still revving my drill in preparation for the brawl when the first one strikes, his crowbar wrapping round one of the pipes that lead from my helmet to my tanks and tugging in a spirited attempt to pull it out. It's a smart move, I think grudgingly, as I swipe at him with the drill: if my supply of ADAM is cut off, I'll lose the ability to heal, and if I can't use my EVE I won't be able to use my plasmids. Unfortunately for him, that particular pipe carries neither ADAM or EVE- it's the one that extracts bodily waste**. With another swing of the drill, he's been dislodged and is sprawled in the corner of the room, dead to the world. Not one to waste time, I twist round and deal a similar blow to his friend, who was taking a less logical approach and simply smacking his weapon into my shoulder. He topples to the ground with a fleshy _thump_ , and I turn to the last splicer. She's still fighting to stifle the flames licking at her limbs, her form withering away into flaking blackness, but when she sees me her mouldering lips quirk upwards in a gleeful grin. That's when I hear a cry of warning from the Little Sister, and duck out of the way just as the unhacked security bot sends a round of bullets into the tiles I was standing on.

I roll into a corner, and look up to see the bot rounding on me again. It's too far away for me to fight with the drill, unfortunately, so I'm forced to start prying the thing off again as the bot gets closer and closer, the camera embedded in its casing scanning for signs of movement. I thank heaven that it's in such a ramshackle state- that lens is so clogged with dirt and grime that it'd have to be right in front of me to have any idea where its opponent was. The Sister's still trying to hack it, but its flight pattern is too erratic for her to aim properly: it keeps ducking and weaving like a drunk seagull. Nevertheless, its spiralling flight is bringing it slowly but surely towards my location, and my frantic scrabblings at my drill slow in an attempt to avoid detection.

The bot hovers before my faceplate, its camera lens swivelling around as it searches for a target. I hold my breath, hoping desperately that the shaking of my limbs isn't visible through the layer of filth on its lens. Finally, the bot seems satisfied; with a final, irritable _bleep_ , it buzzes up towards the ceiling.

"Daddy!"

I thrust out my hand in the Sister's direction in an attempt to stop her from doing anything rash, but I'm too late- a remote hack dart has already sunk into the bot's casing. It spins round in mid-air as it registers the impact, spraying bullets at this new foe it's found. The girl avoids them nimbly with a hop and a skip, and starts fiddling with the hack tool clutched in her hands. I give a groan of frustration, and charge towards the security bot with the drill. It's not a very streamlined attack- half of the clips on my weapon have been disengaged, meaning that it dangles from my arm like a weighty metallic handbag- but it connects nevertheless, and the bot is knocked flying. It regains control of itself before it hits the wall, buzzing angrily to a halt mid-tumble, and lets loose another volley of shots in my direction. Most of them fail to hit, but one sinks deep into my left leg, and I sink to the ground with a pained growl. Satisfied that the threat's been neutralised, the bot twists round to track the girl's movement as she runs around the room, fumbling with the hacking device all the while. She's getting frustrated, I realise- she's having to both evade the bot's attacks and hack into the machine's system, and failing at either will mean a world of pain for her. This last thought is enough to get me on my feet again, determined to protect the kid as best I can. The problem is that, determined or not, my leg's still injured and I used up most of my ADAM when I activated Incinerate! back then, so it's not healing too quickly. Still, I ignore the screaming agony and lunge towards the security bot, this time managing to entangle the machine in the drill's loose straps. This situation isn't ideal, obviously- I'm being beaten about the head by the blades of the propellor and the bot's spitting out bullets right left and centre as it tries to locate me in the mess we've ended up in. The kid, who's ducked behind the remains of the counter, shoots me a grateful smile, and turns back to the hack tool-

\- and a plethora of sparks promptly earth themselves in her body.

 **Footnotes:**

* As a way of commandeering our help with his escape, yes, but that's more than anyone else has done for me down here. Actually, Tenenbaum wasn't really doing anything to help him, and yet he still went out of his way to help her with her rescue mission- I wonder whether Sinclair is quite as objectivist in his approach to life as he seems at first glance.

** I'm still pretty glad he didn't pull it out, though. I've seen some pretty unpleasant things in my time, but I don't need the results of that little experiment imprinted on my eyeballs- or staining my suit, come to think of it.

 **Author's note:**

 **Well, shoot. The chapter's finally here, but that took way too long for me to finish. I've been unexpectedly busy for quite a while, so it's been hard to find the time to write, and just when my schedule started to clear up my computer broke down. Still, I am really sorry to have kept you all waiting. Many thanks to all those who favourited, followed and reviewed- you are the reason why you have a new chapter today. Thank you so much for all your support, and here's to hoping I can update faster next time.**


	24. Chapter 24

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

I don't respond, focusing on maintaining my grip on both the research camera and my shotgun as I edge my way into an abandoned building. The door's hanging off its hinges and the wall its frame is embedded in is half-collapsed, hence the need for caution- one wrong move and I'll bury us alive under the debris.

"I really didn't mean to. I'll be more careful next time, I promise- just _please_ , give me another chance!"

I give a stern grumble in response, and stoop awkwardly in order to manoeuvre our way completely inside. As I do so, I hear a muffled sob, and feel like someone's just clamped my heart in a vice. My Protector instincts flare up like flames fed with gasoline, berating me for making her cry, my innocent charge who is the sole reason for my existence. Stop what you're doing, let her have what she wants, just _stop hurting her_!

But I know that if I give in, I'll just hurt her even more. I don't want her to feel useless, but her physical safety is more important than hurt feelings, and if we have another accident like the one we just had then I don't think I could forgive myself.

Ugh. This is all my fault. I was so _selfish_ \- in my desperation to save my daughter, I threw another little girl under the bus. Good grief, I'm just like her, aren't I? Like Lamb. I'll do whatever needs to be done to get what I want, regardless of how many people I hurt and how much damage I do along the way. Stupid, selfish, useless-

Enough. I thump my fist against the wall in the hopes that the pain will distract me from my thoughts, the Sister's flinch at the noise sending another pang of guilt coursing through me. I can't get caught up in these questions- too many people are depending on me for that. No one cares whether I'm a good person or not; the important thing is to make sure I do what needs to be done. Starting with this Sister. I got distracted before, forgot what I had brought her for, but I won't let it happen again. We've harvested two angels so far- now we just need to find the one she scented in this building, and she can finally go home. I'm just angry it took this much time and an injured child for me to realise that.

The shame and guilt still lingers, though, so when we do reach the corpse I almost trudge right past it. With an irate growl, I lower the Sister down onto the corpse, and with a final pleading look at the hack tool she gets to work. It's at this point I remember that it's a wise move to map out an area and prepare a strategy before starting harvesting, and I mutter a curse as I hastily sling the research camera into a corner and charge over to the entrance to string a tripwire across it. The incident really did a number on me, and it's interfering with the task at hand. I can't let that happen, darn it! I need to keep my focus, before more people get hurt.

The first splicer crashes through the ruined doorway, and runs straight into that hasty trap I set. I take a grim satisfaction in the sight of his corpse dangling across the wire like a stinking sack draped over a washing line, before another one starts climbing over the top of him and I have to dispatch it before it gets all the way through.

It goes on like this for a little while, splicers making their way through one at a time and me finishing them off as they do so, like the world's most violent drive-through service. Though I didn't scout out the battleground beforehand, the terrain is working in my favour: the windows are blocked by the piles of timber and other refuse someone's stacked up to prevent the place collapsing in on itself, so the only way anyone's getting in is through the door. Sure, the entire building might crush us at any second, but frankly, I've been in more danger. I'll survive.

Suddenly, there's a thunderous crash, and the doorway caves in in a dense cloud of dust and rubble. I have just enough time to see a gargantuan figure begin to emerge from the wreckage and think how ironic my last thought seems now, before a resounding _thunk_ and a dull pain in my left forearm reminds me that I'm still fighting a female splicer. I turn back to her and slam the drill into her skull, sending her tumbling to the ground. Whether she's dead or unconscious is uncertain, but I'm fairly sure she's not getting up in a hurry.

There's an ominous groan from the doorway, and I spin round to see that huge creature I'd spotted pulling itself from what's left of the door frame. It's a splicer unlike any I've seen before: its shape's more like that of a gorilla than a human, squat but almost as bulky with muscle as a Protector. The creature's hardly the gleaming bronze bodybuilder of the plasmid advertisements, though. Its bubbling flesh and bulging proportions make it seem more like it's being devoured by some demonic fungus growing inside it, spreading and swelling beneath its skin until one day it'll burst in a gory mess.

Despite its turgid mass, however, it moves strangely quickly, and I have to hastily retreat as it lurches towards me with astonishing speed. Luckily, it seems as though its reactions aren't quite as fast as its movements, and it lollops right on past me and crashes into the wall.

 _Click._

I spin around to face the source of that quiet sound and find myself staring at the Little Sister, who's filming the dazed splicer with the research camera. Why she's ignoring the job she's been trained to do for all her conscious life in favour of searching out my discarded equipment and using it to her heart's content, despite the fairly harsh lesson she learned about not doing that _just a few minutes ago_ , I don't quite know. Nevertheless, there she is, sticking out her tongue in concentration as she attempts to follow the creature's thrashings and flailings with the lens. She almost drops the thing when she hears my involuntary growl of irritation at the sight though, and gives me a guilty smile. I don't bother giving her a vocal response- I just shake my head and jerk my thumb back to the corpse. The girl gives me a sullen nod and starts to scurry off in that direction, but she keeps filming, edging awkwardly sideways as she struggles to keep the camera trained on the monster's struggling form. Gritting my teeth in irritation, I give an impatient snarl; or at least, I start to, but I'm cut off by a sudden roar of triumph and the sensation of someone's brawny fists clenching around my arm. Before I have time to think that I really should have been paying more attention to the person I was grappling with just a moment before, I'm swung round and slammed into the adjacent wall. The drug-addled inhabitants of Rapture are all surprisingly strong, but good grief, it seems I was well-justified in comparing this one to a Protector- my vision's blurring and doubling, my head's swimming, and as I slump to the floor, bricks and building material crash down onto my frame where the wall has caved on impact. With a groan of pain, I attempt to struggle upright, but all my scrabbling does is cause several pounds of dust and rubble to rain down on my face plate. From somewhere above me, I hear a deep rasping noise- it takes me a moment to realise it's my opponent laughing at my predicament. I feel a surge of frustration and anger in my stomach, which intensifies exponentially as I hear a shriek of panic from the Sister.

"No! No strangers, stay away!"

The brute's decided to stop beating about the bush and to grab the kid while I'm trapped. Her screams and my snarls of protest are as relevant to him as the mewling of the cat I can hear from somewhere outside this crumbling shack- he's thinking of nothing but the tantalising scent of ADAM that's coming from the girl's stomach. I frantically redouble my efforts to fight my way free of the wreckage, shoving splintered wood and crumbling masonry aside as fast as possible, but I'm still dazed, and this stuff's heavy; I'm not shifting it fast enough. It's only a matter of time before he manages to grab her, and then it's all over.

"Let go! Put me down, no strangers, no!"

He's picked her up. He's picked her up, I'm too late, no no no, please no, not again, I can't not again _please_ -

Suddenly, the crying stops, and I push away the last piece of debris just in time to see the Sister plant her little foot very firmly in the splicer's stomach. With a cry of anguish, the monster drops her, and the girl runs to me and clamps my legs in a tight hug.

"Daddy!"

Relieved but aware that our attacker is still very much a threat, I give her a quick pat on the head, then motion towards the corpse. The girl gives an "Oh!" of realisation and hurries off to finish up harvesting, while I ready my drill and turn back towards the brutish splicer, who's straightened up and is looking not a little ticked off. Roaring with fury, he charges towards the Sister, fists swinging, and I only just manage to intercept his reckless lunge and shove him to one side with a blow from the drill. Once I've managed to knock him off-course, momentum does all the work for me: I only have to watch in amusement as he tries desperately to halt before crashing into the opposite wall. As he does so, the house gives an ominous groan, and with a sinking feeling I realise that this shack, never too stable to begin with, has not been taking kindly to our violent brawl. It already seemed as if the roof might collapse on us at any moment- now, I'm pretty sure that unless we get out soon, we're never going to see the light of ancient flickering electric bulbs again. The problem's going to be finding a way out, given that our brawny friend's dramatic entrance collapsed the doorway along with an entire side of the building. However, as my eyes settle on the huge dent in the wall where I was flung against it, an idea begins to form in my mind. It's not a perfect plan- if it's going to work, I'm going to have to keep the splicer alive until the Sister's finished harvesting, and make sure he doesn't do any more damage to the place in the meantime. However, it's the best plan I've got at the moment, so it's going to have to do.

I turn back to where the splicer's staggering to his feet, swaying slightly. His disorientation doesn't make him seem any less threatening- on the contrary, the fact that he's still upright after a blow like that merely emphasises his terrifying strength and stamina. How much Sports Boost did you take, sir?  
I can't rely on strength to win this battle for me, given that the guy's bulky enough to make us about evenly-matched, or even on agility- we might have the same build, but I'm slower and stiffer due to my cumbersome suit. Still, at least I can think for myself: that has to count for something in this hellhole. I also have the ability to fire bolts of lightning and tongues of flame towards the enemy, but given that we need him for our great escape I may need to be cautious in their application.

The brute attacks first, lurching towards me as fast as he can with an evil sneer twisting his bloated features. I've only got just enough time to fling myself out of his path before the collision, ending up on my hands and knees on the filthy floor. I turn back towards him as he struggles to slow down, bellowing in rage and dismay, but seems rather ungrateful when I lunge towards him and bring him to a stop by grabbing ahold of his leg. He collapses with a weighty _thud_ and a yell of anger, but wastes no time in attempting to lash out at me with wildly thrashing limbs. I have to acknowledge his determination, even as I dodge his unwieldy swings and struggle upright. As he gives up on his attacks and begins to clamber to his feet, his thick lips mouthing with curses as he tries to arrange himself into a position where his bulk isn't hindering progress, I glance towards the Sister. She's almost done, but she still needs to swallow the ADAM. It's no good trying to move her before she's done that: Gatherers are trained to consume the ADAM from the last "angel" before they move on to the next or set off back to the vents, to maximise ADAM production*. I grit my teeth and activate my Electrobolt: if I can keep the Brute jittering on the spot, I won't need to do as much wrestling.

Not a moment later, the splicer finally regains his footing and begins to charge towards me, roaring at the top of his lungs. I fling a bolt of lightning his way, and watch in satisfaction as he collapses once again, his limbs jerking erratically. My smug smile is abruptly wiped from my lips as one of his flailing arms smashes against one of the walls. If he was just your average joe, he would've broken his wrist; as it is, he nearly manages to topple the entire structure as easily as you might destroy a jenga tower by knocking out the bottom brick. I freeze up as the wall precariously tries to locate its new centre of mass, leaning dangerously far inwards like an overly-friendly drunk. After what seems like an eternity, I let out the breath I've been holding- the room seems to have decided to stick with its current dimensions for the time being. I'm just glad that the Brute hasn't managed to dislodge any more bricks; or at least, I'm glad until I see that the reason he hasn't is that the Electrobolt has run out and he's now clambering ponderously to his feet, an evil look in his beady eyes.

Just as I'm raising my drill to defend myself, I'm distracted by a delighted cry: "All done, Daddy! Can I take some more pictures now?". I fight the urge to voice my exasperation at her persistent attempts to help me out, but force my gaze back to the Brute- there'll be no more getting flung across the room because I was scolding my charge in the middle of a brawl. Besides, I tell myself sternly, she's not stupid, even if she is incredibly stubborn. She's not going to go running into the fray, not after what happened last time. There's a niggling doubt at the back of my mind, but I push it down and focus on the figure of my foe, who's galloping-

-right towards the Sister.

Oh shoot, oh shoot, shoot shoot _shoot_. I tear across the room and _slam_ into the splicer's side, sending us both crashing to the floor.

"Daddy? Daddy!"

I crane my neck up and frantically wave at her to be quiet: she's not going to be attracting his attention again, not if I can help it. I can't believe I assumed that once the creature regained his senses, he would automatically head towards the hulking, heavily-armoured monster rather than the vulnerable child reeking of ADAM. Apparently having a mind of my own doesn't mean I'm cleverer than, say, a damp sponge.

My self-flagellation is swiftly brought to an end as the Brute recovers from his daze and gives a roar of frustration, his beefy limbs thrashing as he attempts to struggle to his feet. I grab onto his wrists and try to use my bulk to keep him down, but his own unnatural strength means I'm not going to be able to hold him for long. I'm tempted to put my escape plan into action now, but its success rather depends on me getting a head start, and that's not going to happen given his terrifying pace. Unless… Well, it's a risky idea, but it's going to have to do. I scan the area around us, and find a half-brick that'll do perfectly. I flex my left hand and summon Telekinesis, then roll off my opponent and up into a crouch. He straightens up without the need for such acrobatics, his face twisted into a leering nightmare, and is promptly hit round the back of the head with the aforementioned building material. Part of me wants to stay and gloat**, but I clamber to my feet and dash over to the corner where the kid's hiding instead, scooping them up and holding them close to my chest.

I don't bother to turn around to face my foe as he bellows with rage, instead curling around the Sister to shield her. As an afterthought, I pull out a fragment of the wall with my Telekinesis- I can only move one object at a time, so my efforts don't cause the structure to crumble, but it weakens it a fair bit. It's just as well, too, because it's at this point that the Brute slams into me and all three of us are sent careening towards the brickwork. There's a cry from the girl, a grunt of surprise from the Brute, and then-

-impact.

 **Footnotes:**

* Otherwise, the Sisters being small children and their guardians being little more than battering rams with legs, they'd completely forget to swallow any of the stuff and the ADAM wouldn't actually be processed by the slugs in their stomachs. Quite a few people ended up out of a job once that little flaw in the programming process was discovered- or at least, I think they did. I remember an awful lot of shouting going on, but then again, when wasn't there with Suchong around?

** Probably the same part of me that decided leaving my ward unprotected when a Brute was sizing us both up as opponents was a good idea. Seriously, I'm pretty glad Eleanor can't see me now, or she'd be pretty disappointed in the Father she respects so much.

 **Author's note:**

 **So... It's been a while. I'm really, really sorry. I know I say that every time, but I really do mean it. My workload has been pretty nightmarish since the last update- things escalated pretty rapidly and soon enough I was buried under stuff I had to do and such like. I've still been writing this, but progress has been horribly slow, and I'm so sorry that's been the case. Again, my profuse apologies. However, I can say once again that I'm not going to abandon this. There might be some pretty long gaps between updates, but this will get finished. This has been the most I've ever written of one story, and I'm not going to give up on it now. So if there is another gap like this, please remember that I will update at some point- I won't leave it unfinished.  
On a slightly cheerier note, thank you so much for all the feedback, favourites and follows I've had since the last chapter. You've all been so great and supportive, and every one of your comments and subscriptions has helped me keep writing, even when I've been buried with work. So- thanks. I really mean it.  
Please, feel free to give me feedback! As above, I really do appreciate all the comments, follows and favourites I get. Constructive criticism is always welcome!**


End file.
